Haunted
by Ugly-Girl
Summary: When Batman won't save himself, Diana decides to take matters into her own hands. Sappy shipfic warning. Finally moved it from DC Superheroes section. Finished.
1. Parts I & II

Haunted   
Ugly_Girl (mickerella@yahoo.com)

Disclaimers: Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em. The only real crime I'm committing is the overuse of adverbs, and ending far too many sentences with prepositions. 

A/N: This story was inspired by a challenge given on the JL Animated RPG message boards (like Artemis's "Sick Day" short). The first paragraph was given to us…the rest was up to the author. This is not a continuation of my other fic, "Tell Me Lies"

HAUNTED

****

Part I

Diana had just finished her morning work out with Shayera and was on her way to her quarters to shower and change. She walked through the main room and saw Batman lying on the couch asleep. That wasn't like him, he hated anyone to see him sleeping or appearing weak. Diana sat on the edge of the couch and took his hand gently in her hand.  
  
"Wake up sleepy head," Diana said. 

He didn't jerk out of sleep, disoriented or confused, as most people did, but simply sat up smoothly, disentangling his hand from hers. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't intend to fall asleep." 

Diana blinked in surprise. He had apologized -- and he looked awful. The portion of his face visible underneath his mask was covered in stubble – at least three days worth, she judged – and lines of fatigue were drawn beside his mouth and evident in his posture. For someone who was meticulous about his appearance in his attempt to terrify criminals into compliance and intimidate anyone else, his unkempt look was completely out of character. "Are you all right, Batman?" 

He ignored her question, stood. "I have monitor duty." 

Now, _that _was in character, Diana thought. Even though Batman could be kind, more often he was brusque to the point of rudeness, especially when anyone questioned him about personal matters. Diana liked Batman, respected him – would even consider him a friend – but she also knew that their friendship would always have an impenetrable wall of his making between them. She was tempted to let him be his usual stubborn self, and pretend that he was fine. 

But it was obvious he was exhausted, and under considerable strain; and, no matter how stubborn he was, she knew she could be much more so. As he began to walk down the corridor toward the monitor room, she fell into step beside him. "We haven't seen you in a few days," she said conversationally. 

"I have other responsibilities." 

"Sleeping obviously isn't one of them," she pointed out. "You look particularly horrible today. Is this a new part of the costume? A change to inspire more fear? Because you look about as ferocious as a used scrub brush." 

He didn't even bother to try to intimidate her then, or give her one of his patented BatStares that she had seen work so well on the Flash. A sure sign, Diana thought, that he shouldn't be on his feet. 

"How much have you slept in the last three days?" she asked. "If you tell me, I'll leave you alone." 

"Two hours." He growled the words. "Now go." 

"I lied." Diana stopped, put her hand on his arm, bringing him to a halt. Her expression was serious as she stared up at him, wishing she could see the expression in his eyes behind his lenses. "Batman, you are in no condition to be up and monitoring right now. I'll take over monitor duty for you. Why don't you go home to your cave, or use my room, and get some sleep?" Batman didn't have personal quarters on the Watchtower as the rest of the league did. 

He didn't bother to answer her, just pulled away and resumed walking down the corridor. Diana firmed her lips, made a decision that she knew would make him furious. 

She flew to him, and using her superspeed so that he couldn't react or deflect her movement, hit him twice with her index and middle fingers, once on the back of the neck, once on the chest. 

He had just enough time before collapsing to realize that she'd hit two of his pulse points in a very specific pattern, and his lips drew back into a snarl, but he was asleep before he could say anything.

She caught him before he hit the floor. 

*************** 

Batman bent over Diana's chair, his face inches from hers. "Don't. Ever. Do. That. Again." 

Diana pushed against his chest, and he was forced back several feet. She stood, stepped forward and lifted herself onto her toes until her nose was even with his. "Don't. Be. An. Idiot." She turned, and he caught the scent of the shampoo she used on her hair – the same scent that had clung to the pillow he'd woken up on. She held up her hand, lifted her index finger. "One, you were exhausted. You were no good to the league like that. Monitor duty requires the ability to monitor diligently. If you had monitored in the state you were in, it would have been like the Flash coming in drunk to duty." She lifted a second finger. "Two, you needed sleep. You now can function because you've had six hours of sleep. It's not enough, but it is better than earlier. If we had needed you in an emergency, you may have endangered the team if you had insisted on fighting while fatigued." A third finger went up, and he began to wonder if she'd spent the entire six hours while he'd been sleeping finding excuses to justify what she'd done. "As a member of the team, I made a judgment that overrode your wishes. I would have done the same to any of the other members of the league. If it had been Shayera or GL with an injury, you would have drugged them to keep them from endangering themselves or the team – I've seen you do so. You weren't injured, but you had a medical need for sleep. I did nothing you wouldn't have done under the same circumstances." She stopped, took a deep breath. "And I was concerned about you." 

The anger abruptly drained from him. He knew Diana genuinely cared for him; if things had been different, if he had been different, he might have pursued that, seen if it could ever have developed into something more. But they weren't, and he wasn't; as it was, he found himself letting his guard down far too often around her, found himself talking to her easily or confiding in her at times. He wondered if she was even aware how much closer he was to her than the rest of the league, except perhaps Superman. 

"Finished?" 

She narrowed her eyes as if considering, then nodded. 

"You are right." He saw her eyes widen in surprise. "Next time, however, instead of attacking me, just outline your reasons." 

She gave him a wry glance. "You weren't exactly in the mood at the time to listen." She sat back down in her chair, and added, "You still look tired, and you need a shave." 

He ran his hand over his chin. "I haven't been at home in a while," he said slowly. He could see the curiosity on her face, but was glad that she didn't ask him to talk further about it. He hadn't meant to say that, to admit it – even to himself. 

Home. It had once been his refuge, and now…now… 

Now he didn't know if it was heaven, or hell. 

***************(A/N: I apologize in advance for this ridiculous setup scene – it's filler simply for plot movement, and not really important, but at least it is short) 

The atmosphere around the table was tense. They had just received word that an unknown species of giant spider was attacking the citizens of a South American village.  
  
Superman looked at them, each in turn. "Ideas?" 

"I have BatSpiderRepellent in the cave," he said. "But I will need to take the Javelin to transport it. It is in huge barrels."  
  
"Good," Superman said. "Why don't you and Diana collect the repellent, and the rest of us will go directly to the village to fight the spiders?" 

Batman was already shaking his head. "I can manage it on my own." 

"But it will go much more quickly if you have me to load the Javelin," Diana said. It was obvious that Batman didn't want anyone in the cave, but speed was of the essence. They needed that BatSpiderRepellent. 

She watched as Batman visibly struggled with his decision before finally saying, "Fine." 

He stood, and she stood, and they left the room, heading for the hangar. 

************ 

She'd been in the cave before, but she was struck anew with the immenseness of it, the order that Batman had imposed even on this natural structure. In its own way, it reminded her of home; on Themyscira, too, they had carved order out of nature without ruining the impact and grandeur of the original setting. 

She took in everything that she could: the giant penny, the row of costumes, the giant computers. Diana intended to ask Batman about everything, someday, when he was willing to talk about it. How had he gotten the penny into the cave? Why was one Robin costume set up differently than the others, as if in memorial? She sensed that there were stories there, stories of his past battles, and even more fascinating, hints about the type of man he was under the mask. 

But for now, she kept her thoughts and questions to herself, and followed him to the back of the cave, where he pointed out the two barrels of chemicals that they needed. She picked them up easily, one over each shoulder, and turned to follow him back to the Javelin. 

As they walked, she frowned. Was it her imagination, or did he seem edgy? He had begun glancing around him -- in any other man she would have said 'fearfully' -- once they had disembarked from the Javelin. At first she had put it down to his paranoia, but now that she considered it more carefully, she realized that whenever she had been in the cave with him before he had been completely at ease. 

Had something made him afraid? Had his security been compromised? Was something down here? She felt a prickling on the back of her neck, told herself that she was being silly. 

Batman looked back at her, and froze, looking past her. "Hurry, Diana," he said, and this time she was sure there was a note of urgency in his voice. 

She felt something cold, clammy against her back. She increased her pace, but didn't look around. 

"Don't touch her." Batman's voice grated past her, and the feeling -- whatever it was -- left her skin. A few steps later and she was in the Javelin, setting down the barrels. She whirled around, looked out of the doorway into the cave, but couldn't see anything. 

Batman was already in the cockpit, closing the doors, firing the engines. She joined him, peered out the front windows into the darkness. 

For just a second, out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw a young boy dressed in a Robin costume. He smiled mischievously and waved, but when she turned her head to look directly at him, nothing was there. 

She shivered, but said nothing. She knew this was a clue to Batman's strange behavior lately, his appearance and the reason he'd been in such bad shape earlier. 

What in Hades was going on down here? 

****

Part II 

Diana saw the couple several times while she volunteered at the clinic the next evening, but didn't think anything of it. Her mind was preoccupied by what she had seen -- thought she had seen? -- in the cave the day earlier. She would have asked Batman about it, but he had disappeared almost immediately after they had neutralized the invasion on the village. 

In any case, she was sure he wouldn't have discussed it with her anyway. 

She sighed and continued her work, gathering the clinic's medical equipment that needed to be sterilized. Batman had told her of this place once when he'd realized she was feeling useless in the Watchtower during her spare time: it was run by a friend of his, Dr. Leslie Thompkins, in one of the poorer, crime ridden sections of Gotham. He had told her that Dr. Thompkins was always in need of reliable volunteers, since the clinic existed primarily on donations by wealthy Gotham citizens and charged its clients nothing for the medical attention they received. 

Diana had been glad to offer her services, and although she was needed from time to time to act as a nurse during an emergency, she spent most of her time helping with the never-ending tasks of cleaning examination rooms, helping illiterate or injured clients fill out their paperwork, and sterilizing used equipment. 

As she came out of the last exam room, she noticed the couple again, staring at her. Diana assumed they must have recognized her; despite her best efforts to look nondescript by wearing street clothes, removing her bracelets and tiara and pulling back her hair, someone inevitably realized that she was the same woman who wore star-spangled briefs when she fought with the Justice League. She gave them a friendly smile and carried her burden back into one of the labs. 

The couple had been well dressed, in their mid- to late-thirties and with the air of money around them -- obviously not clients of Leslie's. Probably Gotham's elite, Diana thought. They often liked to tour the clinic before donating money. Odd that they would tour it at night, but who could anticipate the eccentric activities of the bored and wealthy? 

Diana smiled at that -- obviously, she thought, some of Hawkgirl's attitudes about the lazy rich were rubbing off on her. 

Thirty minutes later she had completed her duties, and her volunteer shift was over. She waved goodbye to the remaining staff, and stepped out into the Gotham night. She walked a few blocks, trying to decide whether to go back to the Watchtower immediately or to stay in town for a meal. 

This part of Gotham was always depressing, Diana thought, even during the day. The housing was dingy, the storefronts run down. The sound of emergency sirens echoed almost non-stop through the streets, and the report of gunshots could be heard on at almost rhythmic intervals. The music of Crime Alley, the music that Batman liked to dance to. Or, she amended, felt compelled to dance to. 

She prepared to launch herself into the air, then caught sight of the couple from the clinic across the street, standing in front of a burned out movie theater. They were talking quietly with each other, oblivious to the stares from the neighborhood's inhabitants who passed them. 

Diana saw a group of young teenagers eye the two with a calculating gleam in their expressions, and knew that unless she did something, the couple would very probably be mugged on the sidewalk -- or worse. 

She flew across the street and landed beside them, hoping that the display of superpowers would be enough to deter the teenagers. It was -- after a few startled shouts, they took off down the street. 

She turned to the couple. "It's not safe for you to be here at this time of night. You should probably call a cab; or if you brought your car, leave as soon as possible." 

The woman smiled at her -- a genuine smile, not the artificial one that Diana was used to once people realized who she was -- and Diana couldn't help but immediately like her. Though older, her face retained a youth and beauty that actresses and models would have killed for; and it also contained a kindness that Diana instantly felt. "You are the one they call Wonder Woman, aren't you? The one who works with our Batman?" 

Diana raised her eyebrow at the 'our Batman'. She hadn't realized that the citizens of Gotham felt proud enough of him to claim him as their own. In fact, from the newspaper reports she had read, most Gothamites still thought he was a myth. "I am Diana," she said simply, still not used to the title 'Wonder Woman'. "And I'm sorry if I seem rude, but I'm afraid that this really is not a place that is safe for you. I must urge you again to leave this neighborhood quickly." 

The woman laughed, and her husband smiled. He reminded Diana of someone, but she couldn't put her finger on whom… 

The man spoke. "My dear, we are the last people who will worry about something happening to us here. Believe me when I say that everything that could possibly happen to us already has." 

"Oh," Diana said, not really understanding. She decided to wait with them until she was sure they were safe -- if they intended to stay here, then so would she. 

"We saw you at the clinic," the woman said. "Thomas here used to be a doctor himself." She indicated her husband. "We think Leslie has done wonders with the place -- she's a dear friend of ours." 

Diana nodded. "She's very dedicated, and compassionate. I wish that more people would take an interest in her work, give her the honor she is due." She also wished the couple would call for a taxi, but had to admit that talking to them was interesting. Outside of the clinic and the Watchtower, Diana didn't get the chance to converse with many people. 

The man smiled at Diana again. "You are as kind as you are beautiful, Diana," he said, and his blue eyes twinkled when she blushed slightly. "Martha and I have a son, and we'd always hoped that he'd find someone like you when he was older, and be happy, but…" His voice trailed off, and both of their faces grew sad. "But he's determined not to be happy, and we feel so distant from him," Thomas finished. 

Diana didn't know what to say, but the sorrow in their faces touched her. Her own relationship with her mother was … well, non-existent since Diana's exile. She searched for words to comfort them. "I'm sorry. I know what it's like to be separated from the family that means the most to you -- but I'm sure he still loves you, even though you feel distant. I feel the same about my mother. No matter what comes between us, I'll always love her." 

Thomas took Martha's hand in his own, and stared at his wife. So much love shone from his eyes that Diana's breath was nearly taken away -- what was it like to be loved like that? 

"I told you she was as smart as she is kind and beautiful, Martha," Thomas said softly. 

Martha smiled back at him, her love reflected in her face. She swatted his arm playfully. "I believe I was the one who told you," she countered. They gazed at each other a moment longer, and Diana felt as if she was witnessing something rare, something wonderful. Then they both shook themselves, looked at her without a touch of embarrassment. 

"Sometimes we get carried away," Thomas said. "It used to drive Bruce crazy. 'How gross!' he'd tell us when we did this during his childhood years." 

Diana grinned. She'd never had that problem herself -- at least not until a couple of months ago, when she'd realized her mother had been with the god Hades. "I think all children go through that stage -- some of us later than others," she said. 

They both smiled at her again, then Martha said, "I'm afraid we have to get going, but before we do I'd like to invite you to our home tomorrow evening." 

Thomas reached into his pocket, pulled out a square envelope. "It's a fund-raiser for the clinic, hosted by the Wayne Foundation," he added. "We'd love to see you there." 

Diana took the envelope, felt a sudden chill at the end of her fingertips that disappeared once Thomas let go of the invitation. "I'd be honored to attend," she said honestly, "but I must admit that I don't have any money to donate." 

Martha laughed softly. "You already donate your time, which is far more valuable than money. Just ask Leslie. In any case, your presence alone will probably squeeze a few more dollars from Gotham's wealthy bachelors, who will undoubtedly try to impress you." 

"Just watch out for our son," Thomas said, although Diana had the distinct feeling that he meant the exact opposite. "He'll try to dazzle you more than any of the others, but don't let him pull the wool over your eyes. His playboy attitude is just a mask he wears." 

Because he's really unhappy, Diana remembered them telling her, but also felt there was more behind Thomas's words than she could interpret. She tucked the envelope into the back of her jeans, looked behind her, hoping to see a taxi that she could hail for the couple. The street was empty. 

When she looked back, Thomas and Martha were gone. She turned around, scanning the sidewalks, the street. Nothing. 

"Hera," Diana muttered. "What do they put in the water here? Does everyone in Gotham have the ability to just disappear without a sound?" 

Convincing herself that they must have owned one of the cars parked nearby, and had simply gotten into it while she had been distracted, Diana resumed her walk, listening to the deadly beat of Crime Alley, wondering if Batman was out there listening to it, too.


	2. Parts III & IV

Haunted   
Ugly_Girl (mickerella@yahoo.com)

Disclaimers: Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em. The only real crime I'm committing is the overuse of adverbs, and ending far too many sentences with prepositions. 

A/N: This story was inspired by a challenge given on the JL Animated RPG message boards (like Artemis's "Sick Day" short). The first paragraph was given to us…the rest was up to the author. 

HAUNTED

****

Part III 

"Don't you remember what I told you about the idle rich?" Shayera said, her voice full of exasperation. She was lounging across Diana's bed, watching the other woman prepare herself for the evening out. 

Which meant, for someone like Diana, simply brushing her hair and dressing. Diana hadn't yet gotten past the hair stage; she was having far too much fun talking with Hawkgirl. 

"But they weren't always idle," Diana said. She looked uncertainly at a bottle of hair gel Flash had insisted she'd borrow. _Gotta do the 'do if you want to impress the gents, _he'd said. Since the Waynes had declared the bachelors would donate more money trying to impress Diana, she'd thought she should try to look her best so they'd give as much as possible. She didn't intend to attract any men, but if they gave a lot to the clinic, it was worth covering herself in ridiculous styling products. "Mr. Wayne said he'd been a doctor." 

"And what is he now?" Shayera rolled her eyes. "I don't know about the parents, but I've seen Bruce Wayne on TV many times since coming to Earth. He supposedly runs the family business, but it looks to me like he just parties and travels and is a generally useless person who hangs around with useless beautiful women." 

"Well," Diana said, squirting some of the gel onto her hand, "They did mention they were disappointed in the way their son had turned out. That's got to be a sign that they are better than Bruce, or at least have higher standards." She stared at the liquid on her palm, then grimaced and slid her hand down the center of her hair. 

Shayera frowned. "That looks pretty bad." 

Diana looked in the mirror, at the wet streak of hair plastered to her scalp like a racing stripe. "I think it is supposed to look better once it dries." She wiped the remaining gel from her hand onto a towel, and turned to her closet. 

Shayera hopped eagerly from the bed. "What did you decide to wear…oh." Diana had a total of three things in her closet: a t-shirt, an extra uniform, and a long dress hidden under a plastic bag. "There goes the fun of trying on a million different outfits before picking one," she said. 

Diana reached for the dress' hanger. "Do women really do that in Man's World?" 

Shrugging, Shayera replied, "I'm not sure. I've seen it on TV and read about it. I think it is a standard ritual before going out." 

"You've been out before," Diana said, throwing the other woman a quizzical glance. 

"Yeah, but not to a function like this." Shayera flopped back down on the bed. "The places I go to are jeans-friendly." 

Diana removed the plastic from the dress, and Shayera sat up again. "Diana, where did you get _that_?" Deep red and made of real silk, the dress was long and would fit close to Diana's form, cut very low in the back, and held in place with tiny shoulder straps studded with chips of what Shayera suspected were real rubies. 

Blushing slightly, Diana admitted, "Remember when we first joined the Justice League, and a bunch of companies sent us gifts and products, hoping we'd either become spokeswomen or receive free advertising by using their gifts?" 

Shayera nodded. "But we decided to give it all to charity…Diana, you didn't." Amusement sparked in her eyes. 

"I couldn't resist," Diana said. "It was so bright and beautiful, and it felt so wonderful. I haven't felt material like this since I was on Themyscira…" She slipped her hand over the silk and sighed blissfully. 

"I kept the Playstation 2," Hawkgirl said. "It had this really great game where you beat down the bad guys while searching through tombs, and another where you get to be a detective…" She stopped, and both women began laughing. 

Diana slipped the dress over her head, but paused before getting it over her shoulders. Seconds later, she was pulling it off again, heading for the bathroom. 

"Diana? What's wrong?" 

Diana spun around and pinched together the hair she had gelled. Shayera heard a distinct CRUNCH! and her mouth rounded in a shocked 'O'. "It's dry? But it still looks so wet!" 

"I'm going to wash my hair, again," Diana said. "And then we'll find Flash. You get to hold him down while I shove that bottle of gel somewhere interesting." 

Shayera burst into laughter again. "You are such a good friend, Diana. You always let me join in when you do something really fun." 

Diana spun around again and entered the bathroom, muttering invectives about Man's World, beauty products, and the ridiculousness of impressing stupid rich bachelors in general. 

************ 

"Are you certain you are up to this, sir?" Alfred said. 

Bruce stared into the mirror. Clever use of concealer had masked the dark circles under his eyes, eyedrops had removed the red, bloodshot appearance he'd had for the last several days. He pasted on his dopey Bruce Wayne grin, trying it out. 

He looked like dopey Bruce Wayne. "I think I'll pass, Alfred. If anyone notices anything, they'll just think I'm recovering from a hangover." He took one of the shirts Alfred held out, slid it on. "In any case, it is too late to cancel now, even if I wasn't up to it." He glanced around the room, saw that the two shadowy figures were still in the corner, dripping blood onto the carpet. He could hear their whispers. 

__

...you weren't fast enough… 

…why didn't you save us… 

Alfred looked at the corner, too. "Do you think we'll have trouble with our…uninvited guests?" 

Bruce shook his head, hoping more than knowing it was true. "So far, only you and I have been able to see them – the staff we've hired to help with the fundraiser hasn't noticed anything, even though I've seen them walk right past the apparitions." Bruce knew that often even Alfred didn't notice them. They concentrated around Bruce, only appearing to him the majority of the time. He didn't mention to the older gentleman how many he'd seen; he didn't want Alfred more concerned than he already was. 

__

…you failed us… 

He closed his eyes, tried to shut out the voices. "Alfred, have they been coming while I'm not here?" 

"Only Jason, sir." Alfred sighed, letting his grief show for just a moment before regaining his composure. "He asks where you are, then disappears when I tell him you are out. And they have yet to appear in my suite, or the kitchens." 

__

…we needed you, and you weren't there, couldn't save us… 

"Jason." Bruce bowed his head, took deep breaths. Seconds later he looked up again, pasted on the Bruce Wayne expression. Behind him, the figures moaned and whispered. I can do this, he thought. 

But for the first time since becoming Batman, he wasn't so sure. 

********** 

"Wha…What?!" Superman stared at Diana in disbelief, a blush crawling up his neck. "What did you say?" 

Diana looked at him over her shoulder, sticking out her right hip a little more. "Does my butt look big?" Superman continued to make those gasping-fish motions with his mouth, so she decided to explain. "Shayera says that it is customary before going out in a new dress to ask a man if one's bottom appears large. You were the first man I saw." 

"Oh." Clark blinked quickly, trying to look anywhere but at the perfectly shaped _derriere_ Diana had nearly thrust into his face. "Um, no, it looks fine." 

Diana turned her head to look down at herself, thrusting her hips far backward so that she could see the curve of her own bottom. "Does that mean it looks big or small? Neither Hawkgirl nor I were sure if it was supposed to be large or small, we just knew we had to ask the question. Which one is better? Big or little?" 

"Um, little, I think," Clark choked out. He frantically searched for another subject, anything. "You look nice. Where are you going?" 

Diana stopped wiggling and turned to face him. "The Waynes invited me to a fundraiser in Gotham." 

Clark's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Bruce Wayne invited you?" 

"No, his parents did. Thomas and Martha," Diana said. "I met them at Dr. Thompkins's clinic yesterday." Clark frowned, and Diana glanced at him curiously. "What is it?" 

What could he say? "Uh…nothing," he said. "Have you seen Batman lately? I need to talk to him." 

"He hasn't contacted us since we were in South America," Diana informed him. She turned to go, then threw over her shoulder, "If you see him, tell him that I have a legitimate reason to be in Gotham tonight, so that I don't have to face a lecture tomorrow." She paused, thought about their argument several days ago, the strange things she'd felt and seen in the cave. "And if he looks like he hasn't slept in a couple of days, let me know. I'm trying to get him into bed more often, one way or another." She stalked off down the hall. 

She probably didn't know how that sounded, Clark realized, and couldn't suppress a grin. His smile faded, though, when he thought about her claim that Bruce's parents had given her an invitation. Was there a couple in Gotham masquerading as Thomas and Martha Wayne? If so, Bruce would definitely want to know. 

He turned and headed for the communications room.

****

Part IV 

If the butler was surprised that a member of the Justice League was standing on his doorstep, he didn't show it. Diana smiled at him, gave him her invitation. He glanced at it, then stepped back, opening wide the door. 

"Excuse my rudeness, Princess Diana. I hadn't realized you were on the guest list." 

Diana wondered when he had been rude, but said quickly, hoping to ease his discomfort, "Oh, I was a last minute invite, and I forgot to respond to let someone know I was coming. It is I who should apologize. I hope I won't disrupt too many arrangements." 

She thought he looked slightly offended. "We are always prepared at Wayne Manor, your highness. And do not apologize, for my employer should have informed me of the last minute change." The butler stepped back, allowing her to come into the entryway. "If you need anything while visiting the Manor, your highness, my name is Alfred. Just ask any of the staff for me, and I'll come immediately." 

"Thank you, Alfred," she said. "And call me Diana, please," 

She was sure that he was offended this time. "Surely not, your highness," he said stiffly, and escorted her to the main hall. 

The room was filled with Gotham's elite, laughing, conversing, sipping champagne. In the next room, the ballroom, Diana could see many couples dancing. She immediately spotted Leslie Thompkins talking to a large man in a tuxedo, and threaded her way through the crowd to her side. 

"Diana," Leslie greeted her, a smile lighting her features. The gentleman with whom she'd been talking excused himself, and left their side. "How wonderful that you came! Bruce didn't mention that you would be here, or that he'd invited you. If he had said something I would have made arrangements for us to arrive together. I didn't even realize that he knew you." Diana could feel Leslie watching her closely, as if wondering if Diana knew something, as if measuring her words to give some meaning behind them. 

"I don't think I've ever met Bruce," Diana said, returning the woman's smile. "And from what I've heard from Hawkgirl, I'm not sure I want to," she added with a small laugh. 

Leslie chuckled. "Well, he's got hidden depths." Again the questioning look, then it was gone. "But he would be much more…out of control if Alfred wasn't around. That man is a heaven-send." She lifted her hand in a small wave to the butler. 

Diana grinned. "I think that I insulted him unintentionally when I came in just now. I told him to call me Diana." 

Leslie took a sip of her drink, watching Alfred over Diana's shoulder with an affectionate expression. "Alfred observes the proprieties at all times," Leslie laughed again. "But he was probably very touched that you offered your name to him. He just wouldn't dare show it." 

A woman, heavily draped with jewels and satin, rushed up to Leslie's side. "Leslie, darling!" She kissed the doctor on both cheeks. Diana stepped back slightly to escape the cloud of perfume that surrounded her, bumped into a hard chest. 

She turned, surprised. She must have been very distracted to let someone get that close without her realizing it. "Excuse me," she said. "I didn't mean to—" 

The man surprised her again, lifting her hand to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of her knuckles. His lips were warm and firm. "I don't believe we've met," he said smoothly. "I'm Bruce Wayne." 

Ah, so this was the oft-mentioned Bruce Wayne, Diana thought. She studied him quickly. He did resemble his father, and he was certainly handsome, but she could smell the cosmetics he used. Probably to cover up evidence of his wild living, Diana realized. She felt a wave of compassion for Thomas and Martha sweep over her. They deserved better than this slick charmer. 

She pulled her hand away. "I'm pleased to meet your acquaintance, Mr. Wayne," she lied. "I am Diana." 

"Just Diana?" Bruce smiled, showing brilliant white teeth. "No last name? How will I find your number in the telephone directory without a last name?" 

"I don't have a phone," she said. "And I can't imagine why you'd want to call me." 

"Can't you?" he asked, and his blue eyes flared with a strange intensity before he blinked, and he was looking at her again with a mixture of boredom and amusement. "Well, if I can't contact you by phone, what about your address? That way I'll know where to send the car to pick you up." 

"Space," Diana said. "I live in space." 

He gave her a confused look. "Is that the new apartment complex downtown?" 

__

…couldn't save us, we counted on you… 

Diana frowned, looked around. Had she just heard that? 

"Yes," she answered absently, not really remembering what he'd said. 

"Good, then I'll pick you up there at eight tomorrow," Bruce said. 

"What?" She gave him her full attention again. "Pick me up where?" 

"Your place. For a date." He gave her a dazzling smile. 

"I can't," she choked. How had the conversation ended up like this? "I have monitor duty." 

His face fell, then brightened. "Well, then, I'll just have to stick closely by your side tonight." 

"But—" 

__

…don't leave us, don't let us be alone… 

Diana glanced around again for the source of the whisper. Conversations were taking place all around her, but she couldn't imagine anyone here talking in a pathetic, raspy whisper like that. 

"I see you've met Bruce, Diana," Leslie joined the conversation again suddenly. She turned to Bruce. "I had just been telling Diana how glad I was that you invited her." 

He looked at Diana, suddenly watching her carefully. "And I thought that she'd procured an invitation from the pile I gave you to distribute, Leslie." He lifted an eyebrow, grinned. "Are you gate-crashing, Diana No-Last-Name?" 

"I've crashed through no gates," Diana said, feeling suddenly awkward. "Thomas and Martha invited me." 

Leslie gasped, and Bruce's expression froze, his skin turning several shades paler. 

"Diana! What a horrible thing to say!" Leslie cried. Several heads turned to look at them. 

Bruce reached forward, grabbed her hand, holding it in a tight grip. Diana could have gotten away easily, but she had the sinking feeling that she had just said something terribly wrong, so she didn't jerk it away. He began pulling her through the crowd, walking quickly, tugging her along behind him. 

She had to break into a jog to keep up with his huge strides, her heels clicking at a rapid pace. "I don't understand what I said wrong, but I'm sorry." Eyes stared as they cleared a path through the chatting groups of people. 

"Shut up," he grated out, and her eyes widened. Great Hera—who was this man? That voice… 

He pushed open a recessed door that she had barely been able to see, pulled her through, slammed it behind them. The room was sparsely furnished with a sofa and a couple of armchairs. He pointed to a chair, and she sat. Dread built up inside her. 

Something was wrong here – so much confusion over the invitations. She suddenly remembered Superman's reaction when she'd mentioned Thomas and Martha's names. Then the whispers. And, now, a playboy bachelor with Batman's voice, only a couple of days after she's seen…something…in the cave. 

Bruce was stalking across the room, back and forth, and she watched him as he visibly controlled whatever emotions were raging through him. Finally, he faced her, jaw set but the rest of his face expressionless. 

"My parents died twenty years ago, Diana," he said. "I want to know exactly what you meant by that comment out there." 

Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, Hera, no…" 

"Yes," he said harshly. 

She was shaking her head. "There must be some terrible mistake. I _talked_ to them yesterday. They said their names were Thomas and Martha, and they gave me the invitation." Her eyes were wide with concern and regret. "Someone must have been playing a joke on us. I'm so sorry, Batman, but I really didn't know." 

"You couldn't have," he muttered, pacing again. His mind raced. Did this have something to do with the apparitions that kept appearing around him, or was Diana right, and had someone simply been playing a cruel game? "Tell me all about your meeting with them," he said suddenly, turning back to her. 

She was staring at him with a mixture of shock and wonder, and he abruptly realized what she had called him just moments ago. Batman. And he hadn't reacted, but answered to the name as if he'd been wearing the mask. 

"Ah, hell," he said tiredly, and sat down.


	3. Parts V & VI

Haunted   
Ugly_Girl (mickerella@yahoo.com)

Disclaimers: Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em. The only real crime I'm committing is the overuse of adverbs, and ending far too many sentences with prepositions. 

A/N: This story was inspired by a challenge given on the JL Animated RPG message boards (like Artemis's "Sick Day" short). The first paragraph was given to us…the rest was up to the author. 

HAUNTED

****

Part V 

"It wasn't an attempt to trick you, Bruce," Diana said urgently. "I was just thinking that you sounded like Batman, and that your body was like Batman's, and then you turned around and you had the same clenched jaw and lack of expression that Batman often has. And because I was thinking it, the name slipped out." 

"I know," he said. Diana didn't have a calculating bone in her body, except when she wanted him to sleep. He leaned back on the sofa, wondering how he could have been so careless. 

"I'm sorry about your parents, Bruce," she added softly. "If I had realized—" 

"I know, Diana," he said again. "Will you tell me about your meeting with them?" 

She nodded, and leaned forward, detailing the encounter with the Waynes as specifically as possible. He remained silent as she spoke, except to clarify a couple of points: the exact location of the theatre they had stood in front of, the chill on her fingers when Thomas handed her the envelope, the manner in which they had suddenly disappeared. 

"And you said they mentioned me by name?" 

"They spoke about how you had reacted as a child when they would stare at each other, or kiss each other," she said. "And before that, how distant they felt from you." She didn't add that they had talked about how they'd wished Bruce had found a girl like her, or their disappointment in him. 

She frowned. But had they really said they were disappointed? No, she realized, they had simply been disappointed that Bruce was unhappy – that he didn't let himself be happy. And now it was apparent that they were talking about the way he pushed himself so hard, took so much onto himself. 

"What is it?" Bruce asked, noting her expression. 

"Well, I think they might have known about your alter ego, Bruce," she said. "I received the impression more than once that there were hidden meanings behind their words, and at one point they said – I remember this distinctly – 'our Batman'. And later, that your playboy image was just a _mask_." She thought of someone else who'd given her the same impression of hidden meanings, and asked, "Does Leslie know about you?" 

"Yes," he said. He glanced at his watch, stood up. "She was there the night they were shot." 

"Oh," Diana said, suddenly realizing that the story of his parents' deaths was much more violent than she had thought. It made sense though, now that she considered his character, the way in which he fought with his body, not with guns – which would have been far easier for a normal human. 

He held out his hand to her, and she took it, letting him assist her from the chair. "What do we tell Leslie about the invitation?" she wondered. 

"That someone played a trick on you," he said. "As for the rest of the crowd, we'll go out and pretend as if I was just over my head for you, and talked you into a tour of the Manor. We'll go back, dance once or twice after which you will get publicly disgusted with me, leaving me alone, and then no one will ask further questions." 

She gave him a withering look. "'Tour of the Manor?' I'm not that naïve, Bruce." 

"Yes, but _they_ don't know that." He grinned, and she watched as the Bat fell away from his demeanor, replaced by Bruce Wayne again. She shivered slightly – the difference was uncanny. It was the same person…but it wasn't. 

"Are you going to try to start to find the people who impersonated your parents tonight?" 

She noted his slight hesitation before he said, "…Yes." 

She followed him back out to the hallway, and he led her on a circuitous route around the main hall, directly into the ballroom. He took her hand again, led her onto the dance floor. 

"One or two songs until people notice that we are back," he whispered, pulling her against him, "And then you'll pretend to be disgusted with me. They'll assume I said something inappropriate." 

Diana fell into step with him easily. It was almost like sparring, she thought, except she wasn't trying to fight him. 

Bruce gradually drew her closer to his body. When she looked at him, he smiled and said, "Part of the act. Soon you'll be indecently close." She nodded, and rested her head on his shoulder. 

He breathed in her scent, letting one hand rest boldly on the exposed skin of her lower back. The ends of her hair brushed his hand as they swayed. He trailed the tips of his fingers down her spine, felt her shiver. 

Despite everything -- the apparitions, his exhaustion, Diana discovering his secret -- he felt relaxed for the first time in as long as he could remember. He felt like a fool for being so careless with his identity, but found that he didn't really mind Diana knowing. He trusted her; she wouldn't ever reveal him or those he protected. 

He bent his head, telling himself that it was just part of their plan, kissed her lightly on the temple. Her head jerked back in surprise, and she stared up at him, her eyes wide and impossibly bright in the dim light. "Bruce…" 

He claimed her mouth then, and she remained frozen for a moment before softening under his hands and lips, shyly returning his kiss. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest, echoing the furious beat of his own, and he wanted to deepen the embrace, use his lips and tongue to taste her, but already he could hear the whispers of the other guests. 

He lifted his head. Her lips clung to his for just an instant before he broke away, and she put her head back on his shoulder, breathing rapidly. 

He let his cheek rest on the top of her head, briefly cherishing the moment before saying, "You were supposed to push me away, not continue dancing." 

__

… you couldn't save us, where were you… 

He closed his eyes. He should have known the silence he'd enjoyed since he'd dragged Diana out of the hall couldn't last. 

Diana stiffened against him, and she raised her head to look around curiously. He assumed she was upset with herself for not following through with their plan, but he wasn't unhappy that the kiss had distracted her so much. 

He tried to ignore the voices, said, "All the guests saw us, Diana." He tried to smile. 

She suddenly tensed, looking over his shoulder. Her eyes widened, and he thought he saw a hint of fear flicker in them. 

"Diana?" 

"Bruce," she said, her voice shaky, "there is a man standing behind you who shouldn't be alive. His neck is obviously broken, and the other couples are dancing _through_ him." 

__

…why didn't you get them, why didn't you stop them… 

"And do you hear that? It's coming from him, even though his mouth isn't moving." 

"I hear it," he said, and shifted them around as if they were still dancing so that he could look at the apparition. The guests around them were oblivious to it. "That's Fickle Fingered Eddie Torturro." He kept his tone even, partly to convince Diana that he wasn't as shaken by these sightings as he was, and partly to convince himself. 

Diana glanced at him in surprise, then turned her head so that she could keep her eyes on it -- just in case. "You know him?" 

"He was an…informant, of sorts, in one of my cases." He didn't add that the evidence Eddie had given him had helped convict a mobster, or that the mobster had sent threatening letters to Eddie from prison, promising retribution. Eddie had hung himself in the safe house Batman had provided for him. 

He was one of Bruce's failures. All of the apparitions were. 

"Why can't anyone else see him?" 

"I don't know," Bruce said. "I don't know why you can, either. Alfred does, sometimes." 

Diana gave him a horror-filled look. "Sometimes? This happens to you often?" She glanced back at the grisly spectre, but it had disappeared. "No wonder you haven't been sleeping here," she muttered. "Or sleeping much at all." 

"Not unless a beautiful woman forces me into her bed," he said, a bit loudly. 

She sighed. "So now we play?" 

He nodded, and she slapped him. She didn't hit him hard, but he jerked his head as if she'd delivered a resounding blow. 

"You disgusting pig of a man!" She hissed loudly enough for those around to hear, and stalked away from him, exiting the ballroom and coming out into a deserted hallway. 

She realized that she was shaking, and she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, trying to comprehend everything she had seen and heard since entering the Manor. She reached up, touched her lips. 

Batman -- Bruce -- had kissed her, and she had enjoyed it, wanted him to kiss her again. And he was being haunted by ghosts. She wasn't sure which was more unsettling, more shocking. 

"Miss?" 

She looked up, and a teenage boy grinned at her from the doorway to the ballroom. "Are you lost?" 

"No," Diana said, straightening up from the wall. "I was just…thinking." 

"Oh," he said, "I do that a lot, too." He walked toward her, the friendly grin on his face never wavering, his hands deep in the pockets of his tuxedo pants. "Do you want to walk through the Manor and think together?" He jerked his head toward the ballroom. "There's too many people in there." 

Diana immediately liked the boy, his honest, open way of speaking. She smiled. "That sounds like a good idea. I'm Diana," she said, and fell into step beside him. 

"I'm Jason," he said. 

****

Part VI 

"Master Bruce, a reporter from the Daily Planet is on the phone for you," Alfred said. 

Bruce paused in the middle of a sentence describing the length of his golf clubs, turned to give Alfred a bored expression. "A reporter? Can't it wait? I was just giving…Bunny?" He looked at the woman next to him for confirmation. She nodded, obviously unable to smile because of multiple Botox injections. "I was just telling Bunny about last Saturday's round over at the country club." 

"He would like you to give a few statements about tonight's fundraiser. It will be a feature article in the Daily Planet." 

"A feature article?" Bruce winked at Bunny, gave her conspiratorial grin. "Well, now, I can't afford to lose that kind of publicity, can I? One must always expose themselves to the press whenever possible, mustn't they?" 

Bunny, who had been a model-turned-famous actress in a series of horror movies the decade earlier, nodded emphatically. Bruce wondered if she would give her patented scream if she knew that the ghost of Ronny Mackles stood next to her, dripping blood that only Bruce could see onto her four hundred dollar shoes. "I am always telling Ben we should get more exposure," Bunny said. Ben Winthrop was her much older financier husband, and the reason, Bruce assumed, that Bunny felt it necessary to maintain her Botox treatments – Winthrop would give Bruce Wayne a run for his money in the womanizing department, and Bunny was slowly showing the signs of her age. 

Bruce followed Alfred from the room, and slid into a small office off the hallway. He briefly wondered where Diana was, if she had left the Manor completely after the scene in the ballroom, then forced her from his mind and picked up the phone. If Clark felt something was important enough to call him at the Manor, then it probably needed his complete focus. 

"Bruce Wayne," he said into the receiver. 

"Hi, Bruce," Clark's voice came through, tone casual. "I thought I'd give you a call to tell you about an interesting story that just came through the wire from a tabloid." 

"Oh?" Bruce matched Clark's tone. Even though he was alone in the room and he knew the Manor had excellent security, it was better that they both pretend they weren't anything other than reporter and socialite. If it appeared that they needed to speak as Batman and Superman, then Bruce would take a trip down to the cave. 

Considering his carelessness earlier with Diana, Bruce thought it was safer that way. 

"It claims that Wonder Woman was invited to your function tonight," Clark said. "Is she there?" 

"I've seen her around." Bruce's muscles tensed. He had a feeling he knew what Clark was going to say. 

"Well, reports are that she told Superman before she left the Watchtower that she received the invite from Thomas and Martha Wayne." Clark hesitated over the last bit, Bruce noted. Probably to save him from some kind of surprise or unnecessary pain. 

"Oh, that?" Bruce laughed. "Yeah, I've already talked to Wonder Woman about it, so I'm afraid you are a little late, Clark." 

"Do you have an explanation?" 

"I'm working on that, Clark. Wonder Woman thought it must have been a practical joke." 

Relief entered Clark's voice. "That's what we at the Planet thought." He cleared his throat, added, "Well, Bruce, thanks for your time." 

"Bye, Clark," Bruce said. He replaced the receiver, sat on desk for a minute, gathering his thoughts. 

He didn't believe in ghosts, yet he had run multiple tests on himself and Alfred, checking for unusual chemicals in the bloodstream, altered brainwave patterns and any other abnormalities that might explain why they were seeing the dead. He had scoured the Manor and cave for projection equipment, and tested for incoming electrical signals, yet had found nothing – even when he tested the apparitions themselves. 

He was at a loss for an explanation, and as for why Diana could see them too… 

He shook his head, trying to make sense of it. The appearance of the Waynes threw another twist into the puzzle – they had appeared solely to Diana. And, like Jason, they had appeared whole and healthy, unlike the others who looked as they did at the moment of their death. 

He didn't believe in ghosts, he told himself. 

Yet he couldn't forget the look on the old woman's face when she had looked at him, had whispered the words he couldn't translate, then pointed at him with an accusing finger. 

__

Haunted. Until you lose one of your own loves—haunted. 

He didn't believe in ghosts, and he didn't believe in curses, either. He resolved to visit the site of Diana's encounter with the Waynes – or whatever they were – as soon as possible. There was an answer to be found, and it wasn't supernatural. 

But he couldn't keep himself from feeling a little fear at what he might find at that theater – and a little hope. 

*******************************

Jason knew the Manor very well, Diana realized. He led them through halls filled with valuable art, keeping up a stream of friendly chatter. 

They stopped in front of a painting by Picasso, and Jason looked at it intently. "I don't like it," he said. "Do you?" 

Diana turned her attention from the boy to the painting, tried to make sense of the blue, crying figure of the woman. "I think it's very powerful," she said, "but depressing." She smiled. "I have to admit that I'm far more familiar with ancient art forms. The more modern art still gives me a lot of trouble trying to understand what it means." 

Jason nodded. "There's some old stuff in the next hall," he said. 

Diana grinned at his use of the term 'old stuff'. She judged his age to be around fourteen or fifteen, although he was slightly small for that number of years. 

"When I lived with Bruce, he used to take me through these halls all the time, telling me about different art styles," Jason said, rolling his eyes. Diana's step faltered for just a moment. "Alfred was far more fun." 

"You…lived with Bruce?" She was still reeling from the knowledge that he was Batman. She wondered what else she would discover about him that night. 

"Yeah, he adopted me." Jason shrugged. "Then stuff happened." 

Batman…a father? It had never occurred to Diana. Not that, she thought with a small smile, she often thought of fathers much at all. As the only child on an island full of women, she had barely a concept of what a father was until she'd come to Man's World. 

Although she longed to ask what 'stuff' had happened, she respected Bruce's – and Jason's – privacy enough to hold her tongue. Had there been issues with Bruce's other persona? Or had they simply been incompatible? 

No, Diana decided about the latter – Jason had had only positive things to say about Bruce. Perhaps, she thought, it had been an outside matter – like the state deciding that an unmarried socialite was an unfit father. She'd heard of such things since coming to Man's World. Not that she could imagine Bruce as an unfit father, no matter what he pretended to be in public. He was simply too dedicated as Batman; and, if he had lost his parents to violence at an early age, influencing his decision to become Batman, then Diana doubted he would let another family member go easily. 

"Wanna see where my room was?" Jason said. 

She followed him through yet another hall of ancient Greek art, stopping now and then to exclaim over various works and promising herself that she'd coerce Bruce into another visit, then trailed after him down a corridor. 

They passed a large room, and Diana froze as she caught sight of a large painting out of the corner of her eye. She turned, stared, the hairs on the back of her neck pricking. 

Thomas and Martha Wayne. 

"Oh," Jason said, his voice sad. He came to stand next to Diana, looking up at the painting. "That's his parents." 

The resemblance was uncanny to the people she had met in Gotham. Diana rubbed her forearms with her hands, trying to dispel a chill. She had – despite the specters she'd seen in the ballroom and cave – convinced herself that the appearance of the Waynes had been a joke played on her and Bruce. After all, why would they have approached her? 

But now, looking at the picture, she wasn't so sure. 

"Did you ever know them?" 

Jason shook his head. "They were killed a long time before I met Bruce." He paused, then added, "But I know them now." 

Diana's hands stilled on her arms, and she turned to Jason with wide eyes. "Now?" She had a feeling she didn't want to know what he was going to say next. 

He continued looking at the painting. "They want what's best for him. So do I." He looked at Diana, and his tone became urgent. "The others, they don't. They blame him for it all, but Thomas and Martha and I know there was nothing he could do." 

"Others?" Diana echoed. Her lips felt stiff, her heart beating quickly. 

"Like the one that touched you in the cave the other day," he said. "And the one in the ballroom." Jason sighed, and for the first time Diana noticed that she couldn't feel the air move on his exhalation. "Bruce blames himself for them, too." 

"You were the boy in the Robin suit I saw," Diana realized. 

Jason nodded. "But you didn't see the other one that was behind you, although you felt it." 

"Why?" She croaked out the word, had to swallow to moisten her throat. "Why are you here, doing this to him?" 

"I don't know." Jason sighed again, flopped down on the floor like any teenage boy would. He pulled his leg up, resting his arm on his knee. "But I'll tell you what I do know." 

Diana hesitated, looking at the picture of the Waynes again, then at the boy on the floor. The boy who, she realized, wasn't alive. 

What was this doing to Bruce? she wondered. She remembered how tired he'd been that morning on the couch, the strain on his face tonight that he'd tried so hard to conceal. 

She sat down on her knees, wrapped her arms around herself. "Tell me," she said.


	4. Parts VII & VIII

Haunted   
Ugly_Girl (mickerella@yahoo.com)

Disclaimers: Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em. The only real crime I'm committing is the overuse of adverbs, and ending far too many sentences with prepositions. 

A/N: This story was inspired by a challenge given on the JL Animated RPG message boards (like Artemis's "Sick Day" short). The first paragraph was given to us…the rest was up to the author. 

HAUNTED

****

Part VII 

Diana sat alone in the room for several minutes, trying to comprehend everything that Jason had told her. 

"Your highness?" 

She snapped out of her reverie, saw Alfred standing in the doorway. She jumped to her feet, feeling suddenly guilty without knowing why. 

"I didn't realize that you were still in the Manor, Princess Diana." He stepped into the room, stopped beside her. "I'm afraid everyone else has gone home," he added apologetically. 

"I'm…sorry," Diana stammered, gesturing at the painting, at the room as if trying to explain. How could she explain? "I was just…walking, and talking to…" Her voice trailed off. She couldn't think of a good lie – she was a horrible liar. "I lost track of time," she said finally, truthfully. 

Alfred nodded. "Of course, your highness." He stood with his hands folded behind his back for a moment, simply looking at her, before saying, "Would you like me to show you out?" 

Diana blushed, realizing that she was probably being incredibly rude by not immediately offering to leave. "Out? Yes…of course." She took two steps toward the doorway, then changed her mind. "On second thought, is Bat—Mr. Wayne still here?" She cringed as the name almost slipped off her lips; she was going to have to be more careful. 

She saw surprise shine briefly in Alfred's eyes as he caught the mistake, and he said slowly, "No, your highness. I'm afraid he has already…retired…for the evening." 

Which meant, she realized, that he'd already started his patrol of Gotham. "Thank you, Alfred," she said. She turned toward the door again, turned back. A hint of amusement crossed Alfred's features at her continuing display of indecision as Diana searched her mind for the right words. 

"Your highness? Is there something amiss?" 

"No. Yes." Diana took a deep breath. "I was just wondering if you get a lot of…visitors in the Manor." 

"Yes, we do," Alfred said, his face carefully blank. "Just last week we had the mayor—" 

Diana shook her head. "No…I mean _visitors._" She remembered that Bruce had told her Alfred saw the ghosts at times as well; but if he hadn't seen Jason that she didn't want to dredge up that painful memory. It had been bad enough that she'd told Bruce about his parents. 

Jason had told her how he'd died – killed by the Joker. Beaten and then caught in the wake of an explosion. 

Alfred raised a brow. "To whom are you referring? Do you have someone specific in mind?" 

Diana twisted her hands together nervously, then decided to just say it. "Jason." The word was a whisper. "Jason Todd." 

If the name meant anything to Alfred, he didn't show it. Instead, he simply took one of her hands, tucked it into his elbow. "Are you hungry, your highness? Let's go down into the kitchen, and we'll talk, shall we?" 

Diana nodded, let him lead her out of the room, taking one last glance at the painting above the fireplace. 

****************** 

Batman tried to ignore the whispers as he focused on the spot Diana had said she'd encountered the couple claiming to be Thomas and Martha Wayne. Now and again he felt chilled as one of the apparitions touched him, or passed through him, but they didn't seem to have any physicality with which to really hurt him. 

How many times had he been to this place, looked at that theatre? He'd lost count years ago. He'd been here so many times: in reality, in his dreams and nightmares, and each time it was the same. He saw the gun, heard his mothers screams and the report of the shot. He saw them lying on the sidewalk, pearls dribbling into the gutter, the pools of blood. 

And now he was looking for them to show, to somehow appear. He wanted to laugh at himself, but he was too tired. 

He'd already swept the area in front of the theater for clues, residue that imposters might have left while talking to Diana. And he'd tested for projections or electronic signals, just as he had done at the Manor. He hadn't expected to find anything. 

And he'd been right. 

A involuntary shiver ran through him as another apparition floated past his arm, whispering blame. 

__

…you couldn't save them, you couldn't save us, you can't save yourself… 

Batman closed his eyes against the words, then suddenly stood. There was no point waiting here. Whomever – or whatever – had talked to Diana wasn't coming back. 

He was turning to leave, firing a grappling at the next building when a movement out of the corner of his eye made him look back at the theater. He stiffened, unable to understand what he thought he was seeing. 

The words that escaped his lips were the words of a grieving ten-year-old boy. 

"Mother? Father?" 

****

Part VIII 

Diana swirled the last bite of cheesecake into the remaining caramel sauce on the plate and pondered Alfred's last statement. "No," she admitted, "I don't think that he would accept a curse as an explanation. But considering what Jason told me, that he had appeared—actually, Jason said he 'felt called'—when an old woman was pointing at Batman and saying that he would be haunted…well, I may not be trained as a detective but there is nothing faulty with my logic. These ghosts appeared after the woman cursed him – _ergo_, the curse actually did something." She popped the cheesecake into her mouth, sighed in ecstasy. If Alfred wasn't careful, he'd find her as a dinner guest more often than he'd appreciate. 

"But, your highness, your logic accepts the possibility of supernatural and otherworldly influences. Batman's does not. Although he has had dealings with people who manipulate magic, like Dr. Fate, he sees it as some form of metahuman ability – like telekinesis. Accepting that the soul or ghost of his adopted son is visiting him is quite out of the range of Master Bruce's imagination." 

"And the others? Like the one I saw in the ballroom, or the one Jason said touched me in the cave?" 

"I think that Master Bruce considers them manifestations of his own guilt – a simple psychological quirk implanted or suggested by the woman's curse." Alfred slid another slice of cheesecake in front of Diana, and she attacked it without an ounce of guilt or hesitation. 

"That wouldn't explain why you and I have seen them." 

"No," Alfred said. "It doesn't." A smile tilted the older man's lips as he quoted, "'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'" 

Diana frowned. "Horatio?" 

"I should have substituted Master Bruce's name for Horatio's," Alfred said. He looked thoughtfully at Diana, and added, "I should have realized that a woman growing up in an ancient culture wouldn't have been introduced to the Bard. I shall have to instruct Master Bruce to give you access to our library." 

Diana grinned at the idea of the older man 'instructing' Batman to do anything and replied, "I'd like that." Not only to read additional books from Man's World, she thought, but to see if 'Master Bruce' would do as Alfred demanded. 

It was apparent that a deep and trusting relationship existed between the two men, and that they dearly loved each other, relied upon each other – all without feeling the need to declare that love, or constantly test and try it. It wasn't unlike the bonds that formed between the Amazon sisters. Or between Diana and her own mother. 

Thinking of her mother, Diana wondered aloud, "Do you think that Martha and Thomas were just a hoax, or connected to this curse in some way?" 

Alfred shook his head. "I don't know. Master Bruce is examining the scene now; perhaps he will come back with some answers." 

"I hope…" Diana began, then stopped. What did she hope? That it really were their ghosts? If so, wouldn't that torment Bruce further? Or did she hope it was a hoax? Either way, she thought, Bruce was going to be hurt by it. "I hope that he finds something," she finally said. 

"Perhaps, your highness," Alfred said slowly, "you might try to help him. You were the only one who saw them the first time—for some reason they came to you alone. He wouldn't appreciate it, of course, but sometimes, with a man as stubborn as he, you have to help him despite that." 

She knew that very well. Diana nodded, and stood. "I'll go now," she said. 

*************************************** 

Halfway there, she realized that she probably should have taken time to change into her uniform, or at least into something more practical than the silk dress. But that would have meant traveling back to the Watchtower, and something within her whispered that she shouldn't wait that long. 

As she approached the theatre, her sharp eyes picked out the outline of his form atop a nearby building. She gasped as she saw the ghosts gathering around him. 

"Great Hera," she whispered. There were, she realized, hundreds. Pushing at him, surrounding him, passing through him. They didn't move him physically, but he stood as if braced against them, his cape wrapped tightly around his body, his posture rigid. 

Their combined whispering was deafening. 

She hovered above them for a moment, trying to find a space to land that wasn't occupied by one of the apparitions, then realized that they had crowded too close to him to find room. She braced herself, touched down next to him, immediately feeling the chill of the forms as they pressed in around her. 

"Batman." She said the name softly, placing her hand on his arm. He didn't move, and his gaze remained fixed at a point in front of the theatre. 

She looked at the spot, didn't see anything. "Batman?" No response, and she shook him gently, anything to rouse him. 

His lips finally moved, and she had to strain to hear his words. "They…wouldn't speak to me." He let out a breath then, and his shoulders slumped in a gesture of defeat. 

Diana noted with alarm that although the night was balmy, his exhalation had been visible, as if it were the middle of winter. "You saw them? Your parents?" 

"I looked at them…tried to talk to them." He lifted up a hand, stared at it as if he'd never seen it before. "I tried to touch them, but my hand…there was nothing there." He let his arm fall back to his side. "I'm so tired." 

He hadn't been this exhausted earlier in the evening, Diana knew, and her fear grew. What was happening to him? She needed to get him away from here, of that she was certain. "Batman, look at me." 

He didn't turn, and she reached up, put two fingers on his chin to make him face her, then pulled them away in shock. 

"You're freezing!" she whispered in horror, slowly understanding. The ghosts – how long had he been standing here while they crowded around him, went through him, chilling him constantly, sucking the warmth from him? 

He shook his head, a tiny shake that seemed to swamp his frame. "Tired," he corrected. His voice was still low, weak. 

"You're freezing to death, that's why you are tired," she replied urgently. "Let me take you home." But the ghosts were there, too – would he be any safer at the Manor? 

She felt a shiver rack through him, and he swayed. She caught him before he fell, reminding her of the last time she'd had to catch him – when she had made him sleep. The memory decided her. 

"We're going to the Watchtower," she said, unsure if he could even hear her any longer. "And I'll watch over you, make sure none of these things get to you. I promise." 

She lifted him easily, flew up and out of reach of the milling ghosts. She could hear their whisperings long after the building faded from sight.


	5. Parts IX & X

Haunted   
Ugly_Girl (mickerella@yahoo.com)

Disclaimers: Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em. The only real crime I'm committing is the overuse of adverbs, and ending far too many sentences with prepositions. 

A/N: This story was inspired by a challenge given on the JL Animated RPG message boards (like Artemis's "Sick Day" short). The first paragraph was given to us…the rest was up to the author. 

HAUNTED

****

Part LXIX 

Bruce woke to the unfamiliar sensation of a soft female form draped over his body. He breathed deeply, caught a familiar scent. 

Diana. 

He could feel her skin against his, warm and smooth. She lay against his side, her right leg thrown over both of his, her hand resting on his chest, her head cradled on his shoulder. A few of her hairs tickled his nose, and a smile rose unbidden to his lips when he realized that she was snoring lightly. 

His mind catalogued their positions, their state of undress, and he considered and discarded several intriguing possibilities before remembering the sight of his parents, the crowding apparitions, the bitter cold. Diana's words echoed through his mind – _you're freezing to death_ – and the situation suddenly became clear. 

One of the most effective ways to safely warm a person suffering from hypothermia was to hold them close, skin to skin. 

And he could feel far, far too much of her skin. 

He tried to gently slide her arm from his chest, move out from under but she woke, looked up at him, and blinked. 

"What do you think you are doing?" Of course, Bruce thought, _she_ wouldn't have morning breath. Damn perfect woman. 

"Leaving." He tried his best Batgrowl, but was intensely aware that its effectiveness was somewhat limited without the Batsuit. And even more limited than that, considering that he was unclothed except for his underwear. 

She moved so quickly that one second she was lying next to him, the next she was straddling his abdomen, and he wasn't certain if he had blinked or if she had just been that fast. She wore only a tiny scrap of silk over her hips. "Not until I ascertain that you are recovered," she said, her face resolute. 

He reminded himself to focus on her face. "I'm fine." He grated the words out, jaw clenched. His teeth ground together as she reached forward, her bottom lifting from his stomach, her torso inches from his face. She sat back down, a thermometer in hand, shifted until she was comfortable. 

"Stop moving," he bit out. 

She frowned at him. "Why? I'm not heavy enough to hurt you…or were you injured last night?" 

"No," he said quickly. "Just don't move." _And don't look behind you, or scoot backwards at all,_ he added internally. He could just try to imagine explaining it to her: _Diana, since you grew up on an island full of women, you may not be aware of the involuntary process that men experience almost every morning. And your perfect, gravity defying…anyway, your appearance isn't helping matters any._ She would probably burst with curiosity, and turn around and give 'the involuntary process' a minute examination. "Just don't move," he repeated. 

She gave him a strange look, then shoved the thermometer between his lips. "Be quiet; you can't talk or get up until it beeps. And stop clenching your teeth, so that I can put this under your tongue." 

He obeyed, and fixed his gaze on a spot on the ceiling. She continued sitting on him, her arms crossed over her chest while she waited. 

Beep! He thought desperately. 

She uncrossed her arms and used one hand to push a few strands of hair out of her face. 

Beep! He was…almost…ready to pray. 

She sighed as the silence extended, lifted her arms and stretched, her back arching, a tiny moan escaping her lips. 

BEEP! Who would he have to bribe, beat, maim, kill to get this thing to beep? 

It beeped, and he used his tongue to thrust it out of his mouth as quickly as possible. "I'm fine. Let me up." 

She didn't let him up, just casually picked up the instrument, read the digital readout. "Ninety-nine point eight." She frowned. "I think you may be getting a fever." 

"I'm not." 

She shook her head. "I'm not sure. These things aren't always accurate. I'm going to take your temp once more to be certain—" 

Her sentence ended on a tiny squeak as he flipped her around, his arms holding her wrists down, using his body weight to press her into the bed. He leaned in close to her face, counting on the surprise and his usual intimidation to keep her from simply tossing him aside like a rag doll. "I'm. Fine." 

She wiggled under him, and he immediately regretted shifting their positions. He'd been careful where his body touched hers, but if she wiggled much more… 

She froze. Her eyes snapped to his, her breathing quickened. She bit her bottom lip. And wiggled again. 

He choked, jumped back off her, pulling the blanket with him, holding it to his chest. Trying to retain some semblance of dignity and the Bat, he said in his most gravelly voice, "I'm going to take a shower. We'll talk about last night when I get out." He backed into the bathroom, and seconds later she could hear the shower spray. 

On the bed, Diana turned her face into a pillow and tried to muffle her giggles. 

*********** 

Shayera muttered to herself as she walked down the corridor, two steaming mugs of mocha in her hands. Diana had been supposed to meet her for their morning coffee and workout, but obviously the excitement of the last night had caused her to sleep in. "Fraternizing with the rich and mighty of Gotham – Bruce Wayne of all people," she grouched. 

She balanced the coffee carefully as she opened the door to Diana's room, not bothering to knock. 

"Hey, sleepy head," she called, "just because you are a princess doesn't mean you don't…have…to…" 

Shayera was a detective, but it didn't take her professional skills to come to a conclusion about the silk dress pooled on the floor, the pieces of Batsuit strewn over the carpet, the sound of the shower running and Diana lying nude, except for a tiny pair of panties, in her mussed bed. Diana's shoulders were shaking – was she crying? 

What had that jerk done? 

"I'll kill him," Shayera cried, wishing she had her mace instead of two wimpy cups of coffee. Diana lifted her head from the pillow, and Shayera saw that she'd been laughing, not crying. 

"It's not a good sign that you're laughing your head off, either." Shayera smirked. If Batman ever thought he'd intimidate her again, she'd just have to remind him that Diana had _laughed_ after a night with him. 

Diana sat up, laughing harder. "You don't understand," she managed to say between bouts of hilarity, "he was cold last night." 

Shayera's eyes widened. "You fell for that line? He said he was cold and 'hey, baby, can you warm me up'?" She set the two mugs down on the nightstand, stood with her hands on her hips, shaking her head. "Diana, I should never have let you out on your own last night…" 

Diana doubled over, clutching her sides. Slowly, she was able to control herself enough to say, "No, he had hypothermia." Another giggle escaped her. "So I brought him back here." 

Shayera raised an eyebrow doubtfully. "To your room? What was wrong with the medical lab? They have temperature baths for that kind of thing." 

Diana stopped laughing. "They do?" A blush started creeping up her neck. "At home, we just had…well…the solution was to get unclothed and share body warmth." 

The shower stopped, and Diana looked at the bathroom door. "You've got to go," she said. "He doesn't have his mask on." 

Shayera gave the door an interested glance. "Just what _does_ he have on?" 

"Underwear." Diana stood, grabbed Shayera's arm, ushered her to the door. 

Shayera looked back over her shoulder at the bathroom. "Boxers or briefs?" 

"I'm not sure which is which," Diana said, shoving her out into the hall, "but they have a Bat symbol on them." She slammed the door, locked it. 

"Hey!" Shayera pounded her fist on the door, grinning. "You still have my coffee!" 

"I'll give it to Batman," Diana's muffled voice came through the barrier. "Thanks!" 

Shayera's grin widened. She sauntered off down the hall, whistling, wondering how much the Flash would pay for information on this little scene. 

****************** 

Diana quickly gathered Bruce's suit from the floor, knocked on the bathroom door and then pushed it open a couple of inches, thrusting her arm through with the suit. Steam rushed out, and she tried not to imagine him dripping, wet, only feet away. She had been extremely wicked to tease him as she did, but she always found Man's World's ideas of modesty so funny that she hadn't been able to resist. 

It had backfired, though, when he'd flipped her around, and she'd realized that there was perhaps a very good reason to keep things covered, especially if those things were tall, handsome, and possessing a magnificent body. The desire that had swept through her had surprised her. 

Inside the bathroom, Bruce took the suit from her, his hands brushing hers, and she shivered. She closed the door, leaned back against it, remembering how he'd felt against her. Even Amazons knew how the male body worked, and she was certain he hadn't been unaffected, either. 

She wasn't sure if that thought frightened or excited her – but it did want to make her run away, to keep from facing him. 

"And, of course, you could have used the medical lab," she muttered to herself. "He'll know that, too." She pushed away from the door, scooped up her dress, threw it into the closet. "Probably thinks you set it all up," she continued talking to herself as she pulled on her uniform. "Got Superman to use his freeze breath on him from outer space, projected images of dead people all around him, ran into Jason Todd on purpose just to make his life more difficult—" 

"I don't think that," he said quietly behind her. She whirled around, her breath catching. He wore just his suit, holding the mask and cape in his hand. His hair was glistening from the shower. 

"I know that," she said, sighing in frustration. "I was just calling myself an idiot, and running through reasons why you might think I am, too. After all, I'd have to be an idiot to do those things." 

"Yes." He took a step forward. "But you aren't." 

"No," she laughed nervously, eyes darting everywhere but at him. "I'm not." She rushed to the nightstand, picked up the coffees, held one out to him as if to ward him off. "Here. Drink this while we talk about last night." 

He stared at her for a moment, and she thought he was going to say something; then he seemed to change his mind, took the cup from her. "All right." He sat down in an armchair. "I didn't realize you'd talked to Jason." 

Diana eased herself down into the matching chair, took a sip. "You couldn't have. I met him after I left the ballroom last night. He took me on a tour of the Manor. And I didn't get the chance to give you a briefing about the encounter, because you were freezing when I found you." 

He gave a sharp nod. "What did he tell you?" 

"He told me that he first saw you after he was called by an old woman who was telling you that you were going to be haunted until you lost someone you loved. That the first time he appeared to you, he didn't know how to alter his appearance, so that he looked as he did when he died. He said that he had followed you on patrols, had seen that there were hundreds of ghosts that were appearing to you." She paused, then added, "And he said that he'd spoken with your parents, and that all three of them weren't like the others, that they just wanted you to be happy instead of tormented by their appearances." 

His eyes were hooded, his face blank, and Diana couldn't read his expression – but she could imagine what he was thinking. Thomas and Martha hadn't spoken to him the night before; she couldn't think of anything more tormenting than that. She wondered if the old woman knew how truly well she had cursed him. 

"Bruce," she said, marveling a little at how right the name sounded on her lips, how easy it was to say the name when his mask was off. "What happened that night, with the older woman? Tell me. Perhaps you are too close to it, can't analyze it well enough." 

His lips twitched slightly at the suggestion _he_ might have missed something, might not have thought the scene through enough times, considered enough options – but then again, perhaps she was right. He hadn't been able to fix this on his own…yet. 

He stood, set the untouched coffee down, walked over to the large window where he could see the Earth circling slowly, far below. In a couple of hours, Gotham would be visible from the Watchtower – or at least the city lights. 

He said, "I was on patrol when a call came over the police radio that a robbery was taking place in Crime Alley..." 

****

Part X 

__

"I was on patrol when a call came over the police radio that a robbery was taking place in Crime Alley...". 

"Batman, alarm sounding two blocks from you, the Qwik Mart on the corner of 5th and Nemar," Oracle said. 

"I've got it," Batman replied, and shot a jumpline into the next building, swinging over the alley and then running atop roofs until he was above the convenience store. Two men waited in a late model sedan near the curb. He could hear the shouts from inside, and he flipped down the backside of the building, entering through the loading doors. 

The door separating the storeroom from the front had a small window in, from which he could clearly see the robbery taking place. He frowned as he recognized the criminal; he was one of Rat Muskev's henchmen. Muskev was a two-bit mobster, mostly an arms runner – and currently in hiding from the police, suspected of murder. 

The henchman had his gun trained on the cashier, but was backing toward the door, then turning and running toward the car. Sure that no one in the store had been injured, Batman slipped out the back at a run, shooting a jumpline to the top of the building and sprinting to the other side of the roof. He heard the squeal of tires and shot an electronic tag toward the car – the device would track the car's route. He called for the Batmobile, swung down into it, then began following the sedan through Gotham's streets. 

He could have apprehended them at any time, but the car would, he thought, lead him to Muskev. Once he ascertained the mobster's position, he would call in an anonymous lead to the Gotham police. They could handle his arrest from that point, and there would be no technicalities for defense attorneys to argue – as they would if the Batman was involved. 

Tidy, he thought. 

He trailed them into a run down neighborhood, where they stopped, exited the car and went into an apartment building. Tracking them to a specific apartment with heat sensors, he used his long-range microphone to listen in: within seconds, he heard Muskev's voice. _"What took you so long? We need that dough."_

He sent the message to Oracle. _Anon tip to GCPD. Rat Muskev and three men at 5145 NW Glisan. #24. Armed. Responsible for robbery at 5th & Nemar._

Batman waited atop the building, considering whether he should try to disarm the four men prior to the arrival of the police. He didn't think they'd give much trouble – according to the building's blueprints he'd been able to pull up on his computer, they had no means of escape except the rickety fire ladder. 

There might be a shootout, though, and with that in mind, he began preparing to enter the apartment through a darkened bedroom window, intending to disable and disarm them before the police showed. 

He stopped when his microphone picked up Muskev's voice again, risen in anger. _"Seventy-eight dollars? You idiots only managed to get seventy-eight dollars?"_

Another man's whiny response. _"Boss, them places don't keep much cash after dark. We couldn't—"_ His sentence was cut off with the sound of flesh meeting flesh. 

__

"How are we supposed to pay off the Big Boss with seventy-eight dollars?" Muskev shouted. Another punch, and this time Batman could hear something snap. 

One of the men howled in pain, and there was the distinct sound of a pistol cocking. Silence. 

Muskev again, his voice cold. _"Don't you point that at me. I'll rip your guts out and use them for—"_

Batman swung down, landing on the fire escape. Through the bedroom window, he could see the two men, staring at each other, Muskev eyeing the gun carefully. Unexpectedly, the mobster sprang forward, wrestling the gun over the man's head. Batman grabbed a batarang from his belt… 

And the gun went off. 

The wake of the blast was filled with a surprised silence, and then thuds as Batman crashed through the window, smashing the lights and quickly hit each man, knocking them unconscious. He stood in the center of the room, breathing hard – and he heard it. 

Wailing from upstairs. 

"No." He exited through the door again, climbed the fire escape to the next landing. Through the window, he could see an old woman, bent over a slight form on the bed. "Oracle, ambulance to 5415 NW Glisan #34. NOW." 

He slid open the window, entered the bedroom. The old woman looked up at him, unafraid, her eyes glassy, her wrinkled face wet with tears. 

Batman could see immediately what had happened: the bullet had traveled through the ceiling, the bed, and the chest of the teenage girl. The woman hugged the girl's body to her bosom, blood soaking their clothing, the old woman's shawl, the beads around the her neck. 

"She's gone," the old woman said, her voice surprisingly strong. 

He felt the ache in his chest, welcomed it. He could have stopped the car, and the men inside, before they'd ever reached the apartment building. He could have decided to disarm them sooner. He could have done a million things differently. But he hadn't. "I'm sorry," he said. 

"She was the only one left," the old woman continued, staring at a point past Batman's shoulder. "Now I'm here alone." 

His throat tightened. Outside, he could hear the wail of the ambulance. "I can—" 

"What?" The old woman looked at him fiercely. "Bring her back? Protect us?" She laughed bitterly. "You were supposed to protect us. That's what all of the people say, on the street. You were supposed to be here for us." She wrapped her arms more tightly about the girl. "But you weren't. And now I'm alone, the last one that I loved is gone." 

Every word hit him like a blow, worse than any beating he'd ever taken. "I'm sorry," he repeated. He could hear the running tread of the EMT's in the hall, and he began backing toward the window. 

He turned, and heard the whispering of the old woman in a language he didn't recognize. Her voice was filled with anger, with hate. 

He looked back, and she pointed at him, her finger shaking, rattling the metal bracelets around her arm. "Haunted. Until you lose one of your own loves – haunted." 

Batman firmed his lips, nodding acceptance. The old woman didn't know how close she was to the truth – but she didn't realize that he'd been haunted for years, by his parents, by every one he'd been unable to save. 

He didn't realize how much worse it would get, exactly what she'd meant, until he'd seen Jason, his Robin suit torn, body bloodied and broken, sitting in the Batmobile, waiting for him. 

************************************ 

Diana placed her hand on his shoulder. His muscles were tense under her fingers. "It wasn't your fault, Bruce." 

A bitter laugh escaped him. "No? I could have stopped it at any point. But I made the wrong decisions, was too slow." He pulled away from her, slipped on his mask and cape. 

Diana shook her head. "You can't really believe that," she said, but she knew that he did. She'd seen how many ghosts had crowded around him on that roof. Hundreds. Hera knew how many more there were that hadn't appeared. Maybe thousands. "And you aren't responsible for all of those that I saw – you couldn't be." 

"It's my city, Diana. I've sworn to protect it. Each one of those died because I failed. They *are* my responsibility." 

"You didn't kill them," she said, her voice urgent. 

He walked toward the door, but she was faster, pressing her back to it, not letting him leave. He sighed. "I didn't save them, either." 

"Do you hold the rest of us to this standard?" She wondered. "The Justice League is supposed to protect Earth. Am I, is Superman and everyone else to blame for those deaths we can't prevent?" 

"No." 

"Then why do you do this to yourself?" 

He didn't answer for a moment, then finally said, "Move, Diana." 

She stared at him a moment, realizing that she wouldn't be able to convince him of his innocence, not here – not now. But she still said as she stepped aside, "You aren't responsible, Batman. You are a good man, and you do what you can. That is all anyone can do." 

"It's not enough," he replied, but she could see the surprise on his face at her words. She hoped he would take them to heart. 

Then it was her turn to be surprised as he leaned down, quickly kissed her lips. "Thank you, Diana. For being there last night." He left, his cape sweeping past her ankles. She watched him walk down the corridor, and touched her hand to her mouth. 

__

That man… she thought, but then couldn't think of the right words, enough words, to finish the sentence. 


	6. Parts XI & XII

Haunted   
Ugly_Girl (mickerella@yahoo.com)

Disclaimers: Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em. The only real crime I'm committing is the overuse of adverbs, and ending far too many sentences with prepositions. 

HAUNTED

****

Part XI 

Diana looked up from the book she was reading to the girl on her lap. Bruce stood in the waiting room, leather briefcase in hand, his perfectly tailored suit out of place among the patients in ragged, worn or dirty clothing. The other people in the room had quieted, as if uncomfortable around such obvious wealth. Diana saw envy in more than one eye. 

"What happened then?" Little Teresa drew Diana's attention back to the book, and Bruce's attention to them both. He began walking toward her. Diana ducked her head and focused on the story. 

"And then Cinderella's two stepsisters cried, and realized how mean they'd been to their sister. They declared that Cinderella's unwavering kindness and faith in human goodness had convinced them that they, too, should strive to bring peace and happiness to the world. From that day forward, Cinderella and her stepsisters lived together in their house, joyous in the knowledge that they shared a connection of love, touching the lives of everyone who knew them." 

She could see Bruce's legs in her peripheral vision, but didn't glance up. He spoke. "What about the prince?" 

Teresa's eyes widened, and she turned her head from Diana to Bruce. "What pwince?" 

Diana smiled sweetly. "Little sister, there is a prince in this story, but of what use is he? Cinderella doesn't need him to escape from her stepsisters – it is through her cleverness and good heart that she changes them, and teaches them to love." 

Bruce grinned, his white teeth flashing, Diana thought, rather wickedly. He sat down next to them, placed his briefcase at his feet. "But he is an extraordinarily rich prince, not to mention devastatingly handsome and ridiculously clever." 

"But Diana says that money and pwettiness don't matter," Teresa said. "That Cinderella is good because she is kind, not because she is pwetty." 

"But what about cleverness?" He said the words to Teresa, but Diana could see him watching her. "If the prince is smart, isn't that good? Shouldn't Cinderella find a nice, smart prince?" 

Teresa scrunched up her face, thinking about that. She finally turned to Diana. "Can she marry a pwince like that?" Her expression turned hopeful. 

Diana threw a glare Bruce's way; he simply smiled beatifically. She opened the book again, turned to the last couple of pages that depicted the marriage of the prince and Cinderella, and pretended to read. "One day, the knowledge of Cinderella and her two sisters reached the ears of the prince, which were long and pointy—" A choked noise came from Bruce, and Diana realized he was trying not to laugh. "He was a good man, who helped the citizens of his kingdom – even though many in the kingdom didn't realize it. He went in disguise to Cinderella's house one evening, and although her sisters screamed at his ugly mask, Cinderella wasn't bothered at all because she never judged people by their appearance. (Her sisters were making a lot of progress, but they hadn't learned everything yet.) But she didn't fall in love with him immediately, because she knew that it takes time to get to know someone well. As they spent time together, however, she eventually realized that he was a very kind, very clever man who would always treat her with respect and honor." 

"And they got married?" Teresa asked. "And had little pwincesses?" 

Diana hesitated. "Well, Cinderella thought that declaring love and commitment should have been enough; however, since it was the custom in the kingdom to officially marry the person one loved, she eventually married the prince. And her sisters lived with them, too," she added the last part quickly. "And together they raised strong, thoughtful, kind little princesses." 

Teresa sighed happily. She clapped her hands together, then paused. She glanced at Bruce, then at Diana, and whispered, "Did the pwince ever hit Cinderella after they got married?" 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bruce stiffen slightly. "No, little sister." Diana said softly. "They argued sometimes, but they didn't hit each other when they did. And they didn't hit the princesses, either." 

"Because they loved each other and the pwincesses?" Teresa said. "My mommy and daddy love each other, and they hit. Daddy hit her today, until the police took him away." 

Diana's throat tightened, and she squeezed the little girl gently. "Love doesn't always keep people from doing that. You have to respect the other person, never want them to be hurt." She smiled at the little girl. "And some people, they just don't know any other way to act when they are angry. That's why it's important to try to teach people not to hit, to find some other way to talk or express their anger." 

Teresa snuggled into Diana's chest, laid her head on her shoulder. "I see Superman hit bad people. And Wonder Woman hits them, too. I see it on the TV." 

Diana's eyes met Bruce's, and she struggled to find something to say. 

Bruce said, "I don't think Superman and Wonder Woman want to hit the bad people. They only do it because the bad guys are trying to hurt little girls, and their mommies and daddies. They hit them because it is one of the only ways they can get them to stop hurting people." 

"Maybe Diana should read Wonder Woman and Superman the story about Cinderella, and how she used kindness to change the bad stepsisters. Then they could change the bad guys, and wouldn't have to hit them." 

"Maybe I should," Diana said quietly. "I just wish it were that simple, little sister." 

"Me, too." Teresa yawned; Diana and Bruce sat quietly as she went to sleep. 

At the little girl's first tiny snore, Diana glanced over at Bruce. "What brings you to the clinic today?" 

"Business," Bruce said. "I was supposed to meet Leslie for lunch so that I could give her the check from the fundraiser; but, at the last minute, she called and said she was going to be late because of an emergency surgery. So I decided to wait here until she was ready." 

Diana nodded, and looked down at the little girl in her arms. "Teresa's mother came in with several broken ribs. One had punctured her lung." 

"The father?" 

"Yes," Diana said the word on a sigh. "I don't understand Man's World. There are no abusive relationships on Themyscira." 

"And there is no poverty, no unemployment, no low esteem, no parents who start the cycle of abuse, no power plays between men and women or parents and children—" 

Diana's eyes flashed as he made his list. "Do you think those things are an excuse?" 

"No." His voice was Batman's, for just a moment, then he became Bruce Wayne again. "But people are driven to a lot of things in 'Man's World' that Amazons would never consider, because Amazons aren't desperate to feed their children or to have power over something. It's not an excuse, but it is a reason. The world is not perfect, idyllic and as peaceful as we'd all like it to be, or think it should be." 

Diana frowned. "Then do you sympathize with the abusers?" 

"I don't condone it, but I understand them," Bruce said. "And sometimes things can be done if the root problems are understood." 

He wouldn't, of course, go into detail about what he had done as Batman here, Diana realized. And she realized something else, and she smiled. "You think that I don't understand them, and therefore am simply pushing an ideal onto them that they can't uphold – because the ideal doesn't address the root problems that make them act abusively in the first place." 

He held her gaze. "Yes. Ideals aren't practical, and can't apply to the lives of most of the people on Earth. It only works in an ideal society." 

"Like Themyscira," Diana said. 

He agreed, and added, "I can't fight with ideals. They don't mean anything to many people, and the others that yearn for them can't make them work in reality. So I fight with the tools of the real world." 

She looked at him thoughtfully. "Do you think that I should give up my idealistic views, then?" 

A tiny smile touched his lips. "No. Someone has to have them." He chuckled, then grinned outright. "And I don't think you could give them up, anyway." 

She grinned back. "Probably not." She bent her head, inhaled the scent of the little girl's hair, and then noticed an…absence. She looked around to make sure. "No, um, _visitors_ today?" 

He leaned back in the seat, casually placed his arm along the back, tugged at one of Diana's curls that had escaped her braid. "No," he said. "They leave me alone most of the time during the day, except for one or two very persistent ones." 

"Have you been sleeping well?" She repressed a shiver as his finger traveled from her hair to neck, tracing a line down the nape. 

"If I say no, will you attack me?" 

She looked down at Teresa. "My hands are full right now. But perhaps I would, later." He shifted closer, and she looked at him curiously. "Are you trying to hit on me?" 

"Of course," he said. "I have a reputation to protect. The idea that Bruce Wayne wouldn't sit next to the most beautiful woman in a room, or wouldn't try to take advantage of her inability to defend herself because of a child she's holding, would simply destroy any façade I've managed to create. My cover would be blown." His voice lowered conspiratorially. "You wouldn't endanger the citizens of Gotham by demanding that I stop trying to seduce you?" 

"Is that what you are doing?" Diana asked dryly…and her eyes narrowed. "You are just trying to keep me from asking about whether you slept or not." 

He blinked innocently. "You brought up the question of whether or not I was hitting on you." 

She wouldn't be swayed. "And you started hitting on me when I brought up the question of your visitors. Have you slept?" 

"Many times, and twice in your bed," he said. 

"Don't be evasive, or I'll get out the lasso." 

He gave an exaggerated shudder, his eyes rolling back in feigned ecstasy. "Oh, don't tease." 

She laughed aloud. He constantly surprised her, but she wondered if this was just another mask. Although he was giving projecting the image of a spoiled billionaire to the rest of the room, their conversation had been both serious and humorous – and not at all shallow as the Bruce Wayne at the fundraiser had seemed to need to be. 

Deciding she had nothing to lose, she asked him. "Which one is you?" 

Surprise crossed his features, and he didn't pretend to misunderstand her – but he didn't answer, either. "Which one do you think I am?" 

She studied him, thinking about his personality when he was Batman – how dedicated and serious he was. But, like now, he was also charming and funny, which couldn't be faked. It could be used, she knew, to further his activities as Batman, but it was as real a part of his makeup as the Bat was. "Both, I think, depending upon the situation. You just compartmentalize aspects of yourself until they are required, or until they are suitable to use." 

He inclined his head – not in agreement, Diana realized, but in acknowledgement of her opinion. "Perhaps," he said. "And perhaps I am a schizophrenic with a God complex." 

She gaped at him. 

He smiled. "I'm kidding." He touched her jaw, pushed it up until her mouth closed. He leaned closer, until she could feel his breath on her face. "I have something for you." 

"You do?" She wished her voice didn't sound so squeaky all of the sudden. She couldn't take her eyes from his. 

"Mmm-hmmm." He glanced at her lips. "It's from Alfred." 

She blinked. "Alfred?" Why would Alfred want to kiss her? 

"It's a book. Shakespeare. We knew you volunteered today, so he had me bring it in to you. It's in my briefcase." But he made no move to grab his case; it remained at his feet. 

"Are you trying to seduce me again?" she whispered. 

"Yes." His eyes were intensely blue, and Diana realized she hadn't breathed in almost a minute. 

"Why?" 

His hand traced the line of her jaw, his mouth was inches from hers. "Because Leslie just came into the room, and this distracts you sufficiently so that you don't return to questions about my sleep – I'll be able to get away in a moment without ever answering you." 

Her eyes widened, but before she could retort a scathing comeback he was standing, greeting the doctor. 

"Distracted, my ass," she muttered under her breath, then resisted the urge to kick him when he turned, winked at her. 

*************************** 

__

Distracted. An hour later, Diana was finishing up her duties, and still fuming. She imagined a million things she wished she had said to him. 

__

No, Bruce, she should have said, a sweet smile on her face, _just thinking of all the ways you look so ridiculous in your costume._

That was a lie, though. She knew his costume had the exact reaction that he intended it to – it inspired fear, especially in the dark. She imagined him in the dark, in costume, out of it… 

She stomped her foot, made her mind obey. 

__

No, Bruce, I was distracted by your stinky breath. 

She grimaced. That wouldn't work – he had excellent hygiene. He could afford it. He probably visited a spa once a week for manicures and facials, too. Not to mention that such a comeback was incredibly childish. 

__

No, Bruce, I was imagining twisting your body into a pretzel, dousing it in salt, and selling you in Philadelphia. 

That was at least satisfying. 

__

I was thinking about trapping your lower lip between by teeth and sucking on it for an hour… 

She frowned. That one had started off well, with the word 'trapping' – it was kind of violent and Amazonian – but then her stupid mind had betrayed her again. 

"It's not like I find him good-looking, or brilliant, or humorous, or anything like that," she muttered to herself. "His looks don't mean anything to me, anyway. Nor his brain. Nor his sense of humor." 

"Or his kindness and compassion," a woman's voice said in her ear, and Diana jumped, landing on the other side of the small examination room she'd been cleaning. Martha and Thomas Wayne smiled at her. 

Thomas said, "Smart and kind are the two requirements, right? That's what you told the little girl, Teresa." 

"I'm not Cinderella," Diana said slowly, trying to come to terms with the fact they were standing in front of her – ghosts. "And I don't think you are my fairy godparents." 

Martha laughed. "Oh, no – if anything, we are Bruce's." 

Remembering Batman's pain as he had stood on that rooftop, freezing, Diana said angrily, "You hurt him more than you help him. He needed to talk to you, but you wouldn't acknowledge him. And now you come to me instead." 

"There's two reasons for that, Diana," Thomas said, sitting down on the examination table as if he were alive. "One is that the key to his escape from these hauntings is you. You are the strongest person around him, the one who could do what needs to be done, and survive." 

Martha added, before Diana could ask what needed to be done, and why it was dangerous, "And the other reason is that he won't hear us, won't listen to us. We did try to talk to him that night, but…he's simply too stubborn. He can accept everything else he is seeing, including Jason – but we are simply too painful a reminder. He shuts us out, without having any conscious recollection of doing so. We can't get past that. His disbelief, when it regards us as ghosts, is simply too strong." She looked over at Thomas, her face sad. "I imagine it would take some severe rattling of his emotions for him to actually hear us." 

"He was rattled the other night," Diana said, her voice cold. 

"But his emotions were focused on us, the grief and pain was too strong. It only blocked him from us more powerfully." Thomas sighed. "We wish we could have spoken to him, believe us." He took Martha's hand in his own, and the gesture touched Diana, made her soften toward them. 

"I don't know if I believe you," she said, "but I'm willing to listen. How can I help him?" 

Thomas stood, as if to leave. "We can't tell you much. We can just guide you in the right direction. In a decision as big as this, it has to be reached on your own. The solution has to come from your heart, or else all will be lost, and Bruce will be more unreachable than ever." 

Diana lifted her hands in bewilderment. "I don't know how—" 

"Go home, think about it," Martha interrupted. "The answer will come to you." She smiled, and began to fade away. "Relax with the book Alfred gave you. Try _Romeo and Juliet_ , it's a personal favorite of mine." 

They disappeared, and Diana was left alone, wondering what in Hera's name was going on. They obviously thought she could help, but they gave her absolutely no clue where to start. 

But—perhaps Bruce had, she realized. He'd told her about the old woman, her curse. He'd told her where the shooting had taken place. She was positive she could find the apartment. 

Maybe it was time, she thought, to pay the woman a visit, and to find out exactly what that curse meant. 

****

Part XII 

"I am Uzana Costache," the old woman said stiffly, eyeing Diana with suspicion. Diana could see the lines of grief and exhaustion etched into the woman's face, but her eyes were dark and flashing -- vibrant. Her iron gray hair fell over her shoulder in a long braid, her brightly colored silk shawl in stark contrast to the black dress she wore. 

Diana held out her hand as was the custom in Man's World, but the woman did not take it. Lowering it awkwardly, Diana said, "Mrs. Costache, I know that you have recently suffered a terrible loss. But I desperately need to speak with you about a friend of mine." 

Uzana's lips firmed, and her eyes narrowed. "You speak of that Bat-Man." 

"Yes," Diana said, and held her breath, wondering if the woman would turn her away. 

Uzana stared at her for several moments, then finally made a sound of disgust and opened wide the door. "Come in then." 

Diana followed her into a small living room; the furnishings were cheap but of dark, rich colors: reds, greens, oranges and royal blues. It was a room designed for comfort, but now Diana sensed that it brought the older woman little of that. 

Uzana sat in a wooden rocking chair, folding her hands on her lap. Diana didn't wait for an invitation to sit; she stood, facing the woman, trying to think of the most tactful way to approach the subject. 

"That Bat-Man, that devil-man, you come here for him, to help him, yes?" 

"He doesn't know that I am here, but yes," Diana nodded, "I've come out of concern for him." She paused, then added, "He is…seeing things." 

The old woman began rocking back and forth, her chair creaking. "He did not see enough, that night. He did not stop them from shooting their guns, from killing my Roxana." 

"He couldn't have known that would happen, Mrs. Costache. He is being punished for something that he couldn't have stopped, because he didn't know it would take place. These hauntings have become dangerous; the ghosts almost took his life." 

"As Roxana's was taken." The woman touched her breast. "I felt her die as I held her. She was taken too soon." 

"And unfairly," Diana agreed. "But your curse is equally unfair." 

But Uzana seemed not to hear her, continuing, "Roxana taken too soon, her brother, her father and mother -- my daughter. All taken from me, all taken since coming to this city." Her eyes met Diana's. "All of them. We came to this country for a better life, and now they have no life, and I am the only one left." She stared at a point beyond Diana, seemingly lost in her memories, rocking slowly. 

Diana stepped forward, knelt at Uzana's chair. "Batman is alone, too. He has lost his entire family to the city, swore that he would do his best to protect the people within it, so that they don't feel the same pain. Every time someone, like your granddaughter, is lost he punishes himself mercilessly, blames himself tirelessly." She felt the woman's eyes on her, pushed what little advantage she might have gained. "He is haunted enough without the curse, Mrs. Costache; these spirits he sees only put him, and therefore the city -- other daughters and sons -- in danger." 

"Let them lose them," Uzana said, but her lips were shaking. "Let them know this pain." 

Diana heard a sigh behind her, then a softly said, "Oh, Mamma, you don't mean that." 

Stiffening in surprise, Diana turned. On the other side of the room, a beautiful young teenage girl stood watching them, dressed in a simple nightgown. "Roxana?" Diana whispered, uncertain how she knew the girl was a ghost, but positive that she was. 

Uzana jolted forward, her hand suddenly gripping Diana's tightly. "You see her? Do you hear her?" 

"Yes," Diana replied, suddenly wishing she had kept her tongue still. What if the older woman was hurt by knowing her granddaughter's spirit was in the room? 

Uzana sighed, sat back in her chair. "I can only see her. Tell me what she said." 

Remembering what the Waynes had said about Bruce being too close to the grief to hear them, Diana wondered if the same was true of the older woman. And if Uzana could see Roxana, but not hear her…how exactly did one get the ability to see the ghosts? "She said, 'Mamma, you don't mean that,'" Diana repeated the spirit's words. 

A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Uzana's lips, her eyes filled with tears. "'Mamma.' That's what she's called me since she was a baby." 

"She took care of me since I was tiny," Roxana said, coming to kneel beside Diana. 

"She must have loved you very much," Diana replied, after repeating Roxana's words to Uzana. 

"Too much, maybe," Roxana said. 

Uzana frowned at that after Diana relayed it to her -- although Diana could see that the expression was also filled with pride. "You can never love too much, child." 

"When you love so much that it hurts another person, that might be too much, Mamma." Roxana sighed. "You know that Batman isn't to blame for this. If anything, it was that man who shot the gun; but even he didn't intend to kill me." 

Tears spilled down the old woman's cheeks, but she made an decisive motion with her hand. "What's done is done, granddaughter. It can not be undone." 

Diana, hating to interrupt their moment but needing to know, asked, "You can not reverse the curse?" 

Uzana shook her head. "It is done. Only the loss of one of his loved ones will stop the hauntings." She glanced at her granddaughter, and shame entered her voice. "Roxana is right. I should not have done this." 

"Batman would rather die himself than pay that price for freedom from the curse," Diana whispered. "It would destroy him." Diana looked at the floor, suddenly aware of the enormity of the consequences. "Either the hauntings will eventually wear him down, or catch him unawares -- or he has to lose someone he loves." She shook her head. "Either way, he can't win." 

Roxana turned to her grandmother. "Is there no way, Mamma?" The young girl hesitated for a moment, then said, "This curse is keeping me here as well, Mamma. I am one of the ones for which Batman feels guilty, and I am trapped here by his punishment." 

Uzana closed her eyes. "I know, granddaughter. That thought has tormented me since I uttered the words of the curse. But I can think of no way to break it, other than the terms set by my grief." 

Diana's shoulder's slumped. "Then he is doomed," she said. How long before the ghosts happened to finish what they'd started the other night, freezing him to death, burying him in his own guilt? How long before he lost someone, and blamed his freedom from the curse on his failure to save Roxana, mixed with the pain of his loss? How quickly would that eat away at him, until he couldn't function anymore? 

Uzana reached forward, touched her cheek. "I am sorry. It was my grief and pain that led me to speak the curse." 

Diana couldn't answer. Anger welled up within her, and she wanted to scream at the woman, hurt her for the careless use of power against Batman -- but knew that her anger meant nothing. 

If Diana's own mother died violently, she wasn't certain that her own actions would be any less destructive against the person who'd killed Hippolyta. Diana prayed that she'd never be tested that way. 

Through numb lips, Diana murmured, "I should go," and stood. She had nearly reached the door when Uzana's voice stopped her. 

"Do you love him?" 

Diana turned back. Roxana and Uzana were looking at her expectantly. "Why do you need to ask that? Isn't my presence here proof that I care for him?" 

"You can see the ghosts." Uzana pursed her lips. "Only those with the power to break the curse can see them, or those who are magically sensitive. I am one of the latter, which is why I can see my granddaughter." 

"I thought to break the curse, he needed to be in love with _me_," Diana said. 

Uzana nodded. "That's not exactly true -- it has to be mutual love. But it doesn't have to be romantic love." 

Which was why Alfred could see them, Diana thought. Bruce and Alfred shared a deep bond of love and respect. Was it possible, then, that Bruce loved her -- as a friend if nothing else? 

Uzana was still speaking. "When I realized that you could see Roxana, I thought you might be magically sensitive as well -- you have an unusual aura around you." 

"I was made from clay by the magic of my gods and goddesses, then given gifts of magic," Diana murmured. "And magic was not unfamiliar to me throughout my life, although I can not wield it myself." 

"Hmmph," Uzana grunted, then waved her hand. "Depending on his feelings, then, it could be either. No matter, since a woman of your strength is not likely to die soon, anyway." 

"No," Diana said slowly, "I'm not." 

************* 

__

The next day... 

Alfred glanced at the clock and frowned. It was the middle of the afternoon, and Master Bruce had not yet risen from his sleep -- his attempted sleep, Alfred amended. Most likely, his young employer had not managed to sleep soundly, and instead was in the room exercising, or looking at himself in the mirror practicing his Bruce Wayne voice. 

He placed the last silver spoon in the tray, satisfied that they gleamed brightly enough, his tiny warped reflection upside down in each spoon. "Dashing. Simply dashing," he told his pinhead image, then rose to his feet. 

It took him less than five minutes to gather the items needed for Master Bruce's breakfast -- or rather, lunch. Perfectly balanced nutrition, and delicious, too. Alfred suppressed a smile -- sometimes he impressed even himself. 

He heard the whispering before he reached the master suite, and his suppressed smile became a suppressed expression of fear and worry. He opened the door, and despite the scene he encountered, he maintained his formal countenance. 

He never broke out of his dignified walk, but he was at the bedside in less that two seconds, grimacing as he had to move through the myriad ghosts that surrounded the bed. They were cold -- freezing. He could feel his joints ache, his fingers grow numb almost instantly. He set his teeth, picked Master Bruce up in a fireman's carry, alarmed at the younger man's blue lips and white fingers, and left the room as quickly as possible. 

Exiting, the warmth hit him like a tropical heatwave. The whispering behind him faded as he moved down the hallway toward the entrance to the Batcave. 

"Well, sir," he said to Bruce, still unconscious over his shoulder, "We should be thankful that the ghosts seem to be very slow, since they have not yet caught up with us, nor seem to be trying." His legs were shaking from the weight, and his breath came in short spurts, but his speech was as slow and as regal as ever. "Either that or very unintelligent. Considering that they are criminals, I admit that there is a strong possibility it is not the former." 

In the Batcave, he set Bruce down on an examination table without a sigh of relief, began removing his clothes, starting up the machines that would begin warming him up. He looked over his young charge with concerned eyes -- he was in a bad state. "I do believe that contacting Dr. Thompkins would be in order, Master Bruce," he said, as if Bruce could hear him. Alfred stiffened as raspy whispers reached his ears. "And hopefully she can bring Princess Diana with her -- I have a feeling that you won't be safe in this medical lab for very long," he added. "The Watchtower might be the place for you, for tonight."


	7. Parts XIII & XIV

Haunted   
Ugly_Girl (mickerella@yahoo.com)

Disclaimers: Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em. The only real crime I'm committing is the overuse of adverbs, and ending far too many sentences with prepositions. 

HAUNTED

****

Part XIII (I suppose in a ghost story the thirteenth chapter should be the scariest – but, um, not in this ghost story.) 

"Diana, will you help me lift him into this tank?" Leslie adjusted the breathing mask over Bruce's mouth and nose, making sure it fit snugly. 

Diana slid her arms under Bruce's legs and shoulders, lifting him cautiously, trying not to disturb or dislodge the monitoring wires that Leslie had applied to his skin. He was still cold, and she tried not to shiver, tried not to let her worry show on her face as his skin came in contact with hers. 

She slid him into the ten foot tall cylindrical tank full of a liquid gel designed to gently raise his body temperature. She watched him carefully as his head went under; but the monitors indicated that his breathing was fine – the oxygen mask was keeping out the liquid. 

Leslie watched Diana watch Bruce, and a small smile stretched her lips. "He'll be alright, Diana. He's strong, and even if he wasn't, his stubbornness would heal him faster than his strength." 

Diana laid her palm flat against the glass of the tank, never taking her eyes from him. "But he's not as strong as he usually is, Leslie. Lately, he's been getting almost no sleep, and is constantly tormented by these ghosts, by the appearance of the Waynes." Upon arriving at the manor, Leslie had seen two of them in the grand hall – as she had worked over Bruce, Diana had filled both of them in on the information that she'd received from Uzana, and also apprised Leslie of the real reason behind the invitation Diana had received at the fundraiser. 

Leslie and Alfred could both see the ghosts – it gave Diana some comfort to know that there was a network of support and love around Bruce. She was sure that if Batman's other associates were here, they would also see the ghosts – Oracle, Nightwing, Robin. 

__

The new Robin, Diana remembered, thinking of Jason Todd. 

"Is he okay?" Jason said from beside her. Leslie jumped visibly, but Diana didn't tear her eyes away from the man in the tank. 

"He will be," Diana said forcefully, as if her words might make it true. 

"Jason…" Leslie shook her head wonderingly. "They told me, but I guess I didn't really believe it until I saw you." 

Jason grinned. "Yep, it's me. Back from the dead and all that," he joked, then his face became serious. "You should get him out of here – I can hear them planning. They are going to come for him, and I'm not sure that this tank can help him if they converge on him in a big group again." 

Diana frowned. "It will be difficult to move him to the Watchtower safely without possibly compromising his identity." She couldn't imagine him wearing his uniform in the tank. Maybe a mask of some sort, though— 

"Not to mention his stability and health," Leslie added, and Diana discarded the idea of a mask, of moving him unless absolutely necessary. His health was more important than his identity—although she knew Bruce would disagree. 

The decision was taken out of her hands, though, when an apparition appeared beside her, reached his hand through the tank. Diana reached for him ineffectually, her hands passing through his form. 

Another appeared, and another. 

"Go up to the mansion and get Alfred," Diana said to Leslie. "We've got to move him." Leslie took off at a run toward the stairs leading to the manor. 

The tank was soon surrounded by the ghosts, and Diana flew up to escape the bitter cold they brought with them, hovering over the tank. She dipped her hands into the liquid just as the first spectre pushed into the tank. She grasped Bruce's shoulders, under his arms, trying to find a grip in the slippery substance. One of them passed through Bruce, then another, and Diana could feel the coldness in her hands. 

She heard Jason shout, and then he was in the tank, too – and one of the ghosts stumbled back as if he'd been kicked. 

Which he had, Diana realized with some amazement. Jason had kicked him. 

Her eyes locked with the young boy's, and they shared a glance of surprise and triumph. Diana pulled Bruce up, out of the ghosts' reach but not quite out of the liquid. 

Jason went to work. 

Although there were more – many more – ghosts trying to get to Bruce, and just one Jason, each only had the fighting abilities that they'd possessed during life. 

And Jason had been trained by the Bat. 

Diana could see the smile on the former Robin's face as he whirled and kicked, pushing the apparitions further and further from the tank. Alfred and Leslie stopped short as they entered the cave, caught by the sight of the young man in the Robin suit keeping the large group of ghosts at bay. 

Their number was diminishing, Diana quickly saw. They hadn't expected opposition, and knowing that most criminals were cowards in life, it didn't surprise Diana that they were tucking their tails and running in death. 

It wouldn't last long, however – that Diana was sure of. Right now, Jason had the element of surprise on his side. They wouldn't be as lucky next time, when the ghosts regrouped and tried again. 

But at least they had some hope, now. If Jason could fight them, then surely there was also some other way of fighting them as well. 

********************* 

"Did you see that? POW!" Jason paced excitedly back and forth, reliving the fight with the ghosts. "BAM! That old mobster Minov never knew what hit him." 

Diana smiled. "You did wonderfully." She pulled Bruce from the tank, placed his dripping form on the medical table. She and Leslie began rubbing the gel from him with soft towels. "I don't know why I didn't realize that the ghosts could affect each other before – I saw Thomas and Martha touching. I should have realized that you'd have an effect on them physically." 

Jason laughed, continued to punch the air. "I didn't even know, and I am one." He turned and winked at her. "Don't be so hard on yourself." 

"You are being extremely cheeky, young man," Alfred reproached him, but there was a glint in his eye that echoed the boy's humor. 

The butler's reprimand had some effect, though, as Jason gave Diana an abashed grin. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wink at you." Then he turned to Alfred. "I can't believe that you are still telling me how to behave when I'm dead." His voice was playful. 

Alfred raised a haughty brow. "Propriety has its place no matter the state of the being," he intoned. 

Jason rolled his eyes, and Leslie laughed. "And young teenage boys will resist any attempt to civilize them, no matter the state of the being," she said. She and Alfred shared a warm look, and Diana had to avert her eyes, feeling as if she was intruding on some special moment. She concentrated on wiping the last of the gel from Bruce's body, trying not to feel the texture of his skin under her fingers. 

In seconds, however, Leslie was all business again. She covered Bruce up, glanced from Jason to Diana to Alfred. "It should be alright to move him now," she said. "His temperature has stabilized – it is still slightly low, but he's out of the danger zone." She pulled off her gloves. "He'll probably sleep for a couple of hours, at the very least. Are you going to move him to the Watchtower?" 

Diana looked at Alfred, who gave a slight nod. "Yes," she said. "The medical lab there is fully equipped, and J'onn should be able to help me monitor him." She watched the rise and fall of Bruce's chest under the blanket, remembered his state of undress. "We'll need to dress him in something first – and provide some kind of mask for … him…" 

She trailed off as Alfred somehow produced a pair of sweats and a soft cotton mask seemingly from nowhere. "I've also taken the liberty of preparing a case with his suit, your highness," Alfred said. "Once he wakes up, I'm sure he'll want to slip into something more comfortable." 

Leslie chuckled and Jason grinned, but Diana didn't understand the joke. 

"Man's World," she muttered; but her eyes were tender as she looked at the man on the table. 

******************* 

J'onn connected the last of the wires to the monitor, checked the readout, and sat down beside the hospital bed. He popped an Oreo in his mouth and watched Diana, who had hovered over Batman since she'd brought him up to the Watchtower. 

__

He'll be okay, Diana, J'onn said, choosing to speak telepathically rather than spray cookie crumbs from his mouth. 

Diana sighed. "I know, J'onn. He will this time, at least." She reached forward, stroked her fingers along the back of Bruce's hand. "But how long can one boy keep back a horde of ghosts intent on killing him? When I found him the other night, on that roof, there were hundreds there – today Robin only fought about twenty-five. He needs help if he's going to take on more," Diana said. She had confided in J'onn about the situation at the Wayne residence and the curse – J'onn already knew Batman's identity, and he could probably have gleaned the rest of the information from her mind, but she offered it freely instead. 

J'onn chewed thoughtfully. _You've said that the only ghosts down there were the ghosts of criminals that had died. Where were the innocents?_

Frowning, Diana said, "What do you mean?" But even before she finished the sentence, she knew. "Batman feels guilt for everyone – those criminals that die, but also the innocents caught in the crossfire, or that he couldn't save," she realized. "But the only ones I've seen have been his parents, Robin and Roxana." 

__

Perhaps they are like Roxana, remaining with their families instead of tormenting Bruce – the criminals are probably doing that just because they can, J'onn said, _But the innocents who don't blame Batman, don't hate him wouldn't try to kill him._

Diana snapped her fingers, began walking back and forth as she thought. "If we can contact these others, they might buy Batman some time." She shook her head, thinking about how little time that probably was. "But how long will it be before it gets to him? Or they get to him? Batman won't like accepting help from the innocent ghosts. Or before the constant barrage of hauntings wears him down? Or even until one of the criminal ghosts finds a spiritual medium who can see him, and reveals his identity to the world?" 

She stopped, looked down at Bruce again. "There has to be a way to break the curse. There has to be." 

__

And we'll think of one, Diana. J'onn rose from his chair, took Diana's hand, began leading her toward the door. He swallowed the Oreo currently in his mouth, and said, "But right now you should get some rest. Maybe an idea will come to you if you don't focus on it so much," J'onn added. "I can take care of things here, and I'll let you know when or if there is any change in his condition." 

Diana nodded tiredly. "Maybe you are right, J'onn." She glanced back at Bruce, sleeping on the bed. "I hate to leave him, though," she said. 

J'onn hid a smile, pushed her gently through the door. "He'll be here when you get back, all in one loveable piece." 

She gave him a strange look, and he shut the door in her face, chuckling. Human relationships were so fascinating, he thought. Not to mention entertaining. 

************** 

Diana paced her room, unable to sleep. She wanted to go back into the medlab, but forced herself to stay away. Bruce was sleeping, and there was nothing for her to do there but hover over him and bother J'onn. 

Desperate for something to do, she dialed in the code for the speaker to Shayera's room. Maybe Hawkgirl would like to… 

A male voice answered. "Hello?" Diana immediately recognized John's voice. Her brow furrowed. Why would GL be in Shayera's room at this time of night? 

"John? Is Shayera there? Is she alright? Why are you in…" Diana suddenly realized why. "Oh," she said, a blush staining her cheeks. 

She heard Shayera's voice in the background. "You answered my phone??? Are you an idiot?" There were sounds of a scuffle, and a thud, then Shayera's voice came clearly through the speaker. "Uh, hi, Di. What's up?" 

Diana tried not to giggle, thought of an excuse to get off the phone quickly. "Nothing, Shy. Was just wondering if you'd seen tonight's episode of Buffy, but I'll catch up with you later." She disconnected and sat down on her bed, grinning. Diana had never been intimate with a man herself, but she was no prude; she was deliriously happy that her friend was able to be with a man she respected as much as she did GL. Although, she thought, remembering the sounds of the scuffle and the thud when Shayera had taken over the phone, their relationship was probably going to be very tumultuous. 

Would a relationship with Bruce be like that? Diana wondered before she could stop herself. She couldn't imagine that it would be boring, that was for certain. 

Not that, she told herself, he'd let himself into a relationship. 

She sighed, but didn't examine why that thought bothered her. Looking for something to distract herself with, her eyes caught the book lying on her nightstand, the collection of Shakespearian plays that Alfred had lent her. 

She picked up the heavy volume, remembered that Martha Wayne had suggested _Romeo and Juliet_. She turned to that play, began reading, and despite her concern for Bruce was soon enthralled by the story. 

Two hours later, she put the book down with a heavy sigh. It had been a beautiful play, but so very tragic. _If only,_ she thought, _Juliet had made sure that Romeo knew of their plan, so that he wouldn't panic, wouldn't think that she was really dead. If only Romeo had waited a little longer. And if only, _Diana added with a small, ironic smile, _they'd had modern medical technology that could have saved them. A stab wound, poison…deadly, sure, but nowadays they were bringing people back from near death – even after death -- all the time…_

Diana sat up like a shot. 

"Oh, great Hera," she whispered. "That's the answer…" Martha and Thomas must have picked that play to give her the idea. 

But who would it be? She couldn't risk such a maneuver with Alfred or Leslie – they were strong and spry for their age, but…no, she'd never take that chance. And if something went wrong with Nightwing or Oracle or Robin she could never forgive herself. She wouldn't even consider putting them in that danger. 

But herself – Diana knew she was resilient, and if anyone could pull it off, it would be her. She'd have to set it up perfectly, though, take her time. 

She could do it, she resolved. It all depended on one thing: 

Could she simply see the ghosts because she was magically sensitive? Or was it a mutual love that she and Bruce shared? She remembered that Uzana had said that it didn't have to be romantic love, but the bond of love between friends would work. She knew she loved him as a friend – maybe more. 

Definitely more, she admitted to herself. 

But the real question was: did Bruce feel love for her?

****

Part XIV 

"You've gotten into the habit of rescuing me, Princess." 

Diana looked away from the machine that had been monitoring his pulse rate, trying her best not to let her relief show on her face. Dr. Thompkins had said that a coma might be possible after such an extreme decrease in body temperature, but he was already awake. 

"I didn't rescue you this time," she said honestly. "I just provided the transportation." She sat down on the chair next to his bed. "It was actually Alfred, Jason and Leslie." 

She couldn't tell if his expression changed under the soft mask he was wearing when she said Jason's name. "And my prognosis?" 

"Good. All of your vitals are at normal levels." she replied. "How do you feel?" 

"Fine," he said. 

She waited for him to sit up, to be his usual stubborn self and demand release from the medical lab, but he simply lay there, watching her. "Are you sure you are fine?" she wondered. 

"Yes." 

She waited again. Finally, exasperated, she said, "Jason can fight the other ghosts." 

__

That surprised him; she could tell by the way that his lips relaxed for a microsecond. "Was he injured?" he asked, and then a strange expression passed over the visible part of his face, as if he'd just realized how odd it was to wonder if a ghost had been hurt. 

"No," Diana said, smiling. "You taught him well. He held his own against twenty-five of them." 

Bruce nodded slowly. "But…?" 

Diana sighed, wishing he hadn't focused so quickly on the negative side of the news. "But, he also had the element of surprise – next time I don't think they will be beaten as easily. Especially if they are in a larger group." She paused, then added. "At least you'll be better protected than you were." 

He remained silent for a moment, then finally sat up, pulling the monitoring wires from his skin as he did. 

"I went to go see Uzana Costache," Diana announced. 

He stopped. "I wondered when you would tell me." 

"You knew?" She didn't wait for confirmation, but muttered to herself, "Of course he knew." 

"I knew." His lips twitched. 

"Then you don't need me to tell you what she said, since you probably know that, too," Diana said, leaning back in the chair, crossing her arms. 

"No," he said. "I know where you go when you are in Gotham, but I don't monitor you quite that closely." 

Unsure of whether to be offended or flattered by any monitoring at all, Diana opened her mouth to reply, then had no idea what she was going to say. A little flustered, she blurted, "Well, then ask me what Uzana said." An impish voice made her add, "Ask nicely." 

Bruce gave her a long stare, then turned his attention to removing the rest of the wires, then the I.V on the back of his hand. 

She swatted his hand away, began removing it for him. Knowing him, she thought, he'd probably just rip it out. She pulled the I.V. out gently, letting her hands linger on his skin, her fingers against his palms. Once it was unattached, she sat back in her chair again. She crossed her legs, began to hum. 

He gave her another long stare, then looked around. Spying the bag Alfred had packed for him on an adjoining counter, he grabbed it, opened it, revealing his Batsuit. 

This time there was a challenge in the stare he gave her. He didn't even glance toward the dressing room, but pulled off the makeshift mask, then his sweatshirt, his eyes locked with hers continuously. Her smile never wavered, her eyes didn't wander. 

She heard the slide of his sweatpants down his legs, and she admired his ability to remove them without breaking eye contact with her. 

She couldn't resist. She stole a glance downward, and immediately looked back up, a blush staining her cheeks. 

He smirked. 

"You just have to ask _nicely_." She practically growled the words. 

He winked, and began pulling on his suit pants. "You, too." 

Her eyes widened, her blush deepened. "You are impossible." 

"So I've been told." All trace of playfulness disappeared from his voice then, and he added, "Costache." 

She watched his chest disappear under the bat symbol of his suit tunic, had to bite back a sigh, concentrate on what she was supposed to be talking about. "The people who can break the curse are the ones who can see the ghosts – so far that is Leslie, Alfred, and me…maybe." 

He raised an eyebrow, then his face was covered by the mask. 

"Uzana could see the ghosts as well, but she claimed it was because she was magically sensitive. The others – Alfred, Leslie – can see them because you share a bond of love with them. I imagine that Nightwing and Robin could see them, too." 

Batman was silent. 

"The curse explicitly stated that it would only be broken when you lost a loved one – Uzana couldn't reverse the curse, or find a way around that stipulation." She took a deep breath, then said, "And she is also not sure if I can see them – I might be magically sensitive, or it might be because of our friendship, a shared love." 

She held that breath, watching him, hoping he'd reply. Wanting him to say that it was one or the other, so that she would know whether her plan would work. 

He simply looked at her, then nodded. "So you didn't find out anything useful." 

She knew he didn't mean to be cruel; he was just being blunt. "No," she said. "Except that there are many, many more ghosts than have been showing themselves to you. The innocents. Roxana, Uzana's granddaughter, was there. We think that there are probably many more who are with their families instead of trying to kill you." 

"Let them stay with their families," Batman said, and swept past her, heading for the door. 

"They might be able to help protect you, Batman," Diana called after him. 

He didn't answer, as she knew he wouldn't. The door slid silently shut behind him. 

She drew her hand through her hair with a sigh. She hadn't found out what she'd wanted to: if the reason she could see them was due to their friendship, and her love. She should have known he wouldn't reveal that information. 

There had to be some way of knowing, though. She thought he might, but she couldn't trust her own instincts about these things in Man's World. People thought, acted so differently than on Themyscira. 

But she knew of at least one person whom she could ask.


	8. Parts XV, XVI & XVII

Haunted   
Ugly_Girl (mickerella@yahoo.com)

Disclaimers: Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em. The only real crime I'm committing is the overuse of adverbs, and ending far too many sentences with prepositions. 

A/N: This story was inspired by a challenge given on the JL Animated RPG message boards (like Artemis's "Sick Day" short). The first paragraph was given to us…the rest was up to the author. 

HAUNTED

****

Part XV 

"Why didn't you ask J'onn?" Clark peered curiously at Diana through his glasses. 

Diana shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She had asked Clark to meet her at a fast food restaurant. If they had to, they would say that he was interviewing her. In actuality, she didn't want to ask Clark this question in the Watchtower – she wasn't sure how well Batman monitored the conversations that took place there. "It didn't seem fair of me to ask him – we all trust him to keep the secrets that he gleans from our minds to himself. I couldn't ask him to break that trust." 

She was lying. In truth, she was afraid that J'onn would realize her plan, that she would involuntarily give it away or that he would pick it up telepathically, and try to dissuade her. She wanted to avoid J'onn completely until it was too late for him to do anything about it. 

Clark nodded, seemed to buy her explanation. "I have to admit that I'm surprised you are asking me this." He ran his hand through his hair. "Are you sure? Bruce?" 

She leaned forward, trying to be as earnest as possible. "I love him. And I just need to know how to figure out if he feels anything for me." She was, she told herself, only partially lying – or rather, only partially telling the truth. But if she told Clark the entire truth, the reason _why_ she wanted to know if Bruce loved her, then he would most likely do his best to stop her – and alert Bruce of her plan. 

She wasn't going to be an idiot; she had every intention of being as safe as she could possibly be, and letting Bruce know in time for him to save her. 

But somehow, she was sure that neither Bruce nor Clark would appreciate that. 

"Well, then, as you well know, with Bruce it is very difficult to tell what he is feeling." Clark stopped, snorted lightly through his nose. "Impossible, actually." 

Diana picked up a french fry. "There must be a way. What does he do differently with the people for whom he feels love that those he doesn't?" 

Clark took a bite of his burger, grimaced. "I should have gotten the salad," he muttered, and added, "I've never seen him _in_ love with anyone. I know there have been a few women who've gotten close to him, but—" 

"But what about Alfred, Nightwing, everyone else?" Diana popped another fry into her mouth, munched happily. "He loves them." 

Clark gave her a confused glance. "But not in the way that you are talking about—" 

"I'll take anything I can get," Diana interrupted him again. 

Clark stared at her, and Diana saw a mixture of pity and sadness pass briefly across his face. She realized that he thought she must be desperate, pining for a man who couldn't possibly ever enter into a relationship with her. 

__

I am desperate, she thought, _just not for the reasons he imagines. I want to save Bruce's life, not throw myself into his life on my knees._ Despite the urgency of the situation, she had to bite back a grin. _Imagine…an Amazon, desperate for a man to love her._

__

Not that it wouldn't be nice, to have that kind of dedication, that focus Batman has for his job directed even infinitesimally toward yourself, a tiny voice inside her whispered. 

She acknowledged the voice, had to admit that it wasn't wrong. She wouldn't ever feel desperate for his love or beg for it, but she wouldn't avoid it, either, should it happen to come her way. 

Clark's voice broke her reverie. "One thing that I've noticed about Bruce is that when he loves someone, he'll inconvenience himself for their benefit. He won't do that often – most of the time he'll do what he wants, what he thinks is best." 

"I've noticed," Diana said dryly. 

"But he'll go out of his way to make compromises—as long as it doesn't endanger his city, or anyone else on Earth." Clark threw down his burger. "I can't eat this." 

Diana picked it up. "Do you want my chicken sandwich?" She took a big bite of the burger and managed to grin without pickles falling from her mouth. 

"No," he said, watching her stuff her face with a mixture of awe and bewilderment. She was one of the most beautiful, elegant, amazing people he knew, but she was enjoying the greasy burger like it was ambrosia. And somehow enjoying it without her natural grace and beauty ever deserting her. 

She swallowed. "So, I just have to remember a time when he inconvenienced himself for me." 

"It's not that easy, Di—" 

She waved her hand. "Oh, I didn't think it would be easy. But I think that my instincts will guide me the rest of the way." 

Clark frowned. "Maybe." 

"When did you realize that Lois loved you?" Diana wondered. 

Clark blushed. 

Diana stared at him, caught in the middle of another big bite. She slowly removed the sandwich from her mouth. "You mean, during…" 

"Yes." His reddened further, cleared his throat. "Not that _that_ is always a sign of love, you know." He cleared his throat again, asked hesitantly, "Have you and Bruce…?" He let the question hang. 

Diana grinned. "I wish." She said it partly because she was deeply attracted to Bruce, partly because Clark was so uncomfortable. Men were ridiculously funny. 

His color bordered on purple. "Oh…ah…I think…I hear someone calling for help. It might be a job for…you know…" 

Diana nodded, her grin widening. "Of course." 

He slid out of the booth, but Diana caught his wrist, suddenly serious. "Clark…if Lois was in trouble, even if she didn't love you back, you'd do anything in your power to help her, wouldn't you?" 

"Yes," he said immediately. He paused, then added, "Diana, I am afraid I'll see you hurt badly by this." 

"I might be," she said. "But it is worth the risk." She knew she meant more than he realized, but it was the truth nonetheless. 

He squeezed her hand, then slipped out the front door. 

Diana leaned back in her seat, finished the last of the burger, her chicken sandwich, and her fries. She ordered an additional milkshake. 

And thought of a way to inconvenience Bruce, to start the chain of events that would change her relationship with him forever. 

****

Part XVI 

Jason shook his head doubtfully. "It sounds dangerous. It wouldn't do him any good if you end up just like us, another ghost to haunt him." He was dressed in his Robin costume, the bright colors somehow blending in well with the interior of Uzana Costache's apartment. 

Roxana's eyebrows were drawn together, her own disapproval of the plan evident on her face. "Too dangerous," she agreed. "You could miscalculate." 

Diana looked from one to the other, touched by their obvious concern for her. But she was resolved to carry it out. "I could," she said, "but I'll take that chance. He can't continue to live like this." 

"Are you even certain it will work?" Roxana said. "Mamma said that you might not be one of the people who can break the curse, that you might just be magically sensitive." 

"I'm going to find out which one it is tonight." Diana rushed on, before they could ask how she intended to do that, "And once I find out, we'll need to move quickly. How many of the others do you think you can find by tomorrow afternoon?" 

Roxana and Jason looked at each other. "I think fifty to a hundred," Jason said. 

Diana hoped he was right. If the villainous ghosts figured out what she intended to do, they might gather and strike at Bruce – and there would be far too many for Jason to handle alone. "Good. If you wait for me at the Manor, I'll get everything else ready." 

Uzana shuffled in from one of the bedrooms, carrying something in her hand. She held it out to Diana. "This is the least I can do." 

Diana took the item, saw that it was a small amulet with a black cord attached. She examined it curiously. "What properties does it contain?" 

Uzana gave her a worried look. "Normally, this amulet is used to cause harm, to deny them the afterlife. It keeps their spirit close to their body." She sighed. "I'm ashamed to admit that I even have such a powerful and evil amulet, but at least I'm using it for a good purpose." 

Diana laid a reassuring hand on the woman's arm. "I'm sure you wouldn't have used it," she said. She continued examining the amulet, understanding its purpose. "So, if I wear this around my neck, it will keep me from traveling to the Elysian Fields – and therefore make it easier for Bruce to revive me, to draw my spirit back to my body." 

"Yes." The woman frowned, her face creasing. "I wish you would reconsider. The two young ones are correct – this is a dangerous business you plan." 

"But it will save more than Batman." Diana gestured toward Roxana. "Your granddaughter will be able to leave this plane of existence, travel to the destination for which she was meant. All of them will, the innocents and criminals alike." 

Jason grinned. "I've been there, and I wouldn't mind getting back, that's certain." 

Roxana nodded. "And as much as I love you, Mamma, you must admit that my being here causes you more pain than happiness. Your guilt is nearly palpable." 

Diana began to repeat what Roxana had said, then realized by Uzana's reaction that she had heard it herself. Something – somehow – she had broken through that wall of silence brought on by the overwhelming grief she had experienced. 

Tears spilled down Uzana's cheeks as she faced Roxana. Diana backed away, realizing that the two were going to say their final goodbyes and wanting them to have privacy. She went out onto the small balcony; Jason followed her. 

"He's just gotten back from the Watchtower," Jason said. "I should go, make sure that he's safe." 

Diana smiled. "I imagine he'll be here soon enough," she said. "He told me that he tracks my movements when I'm in Gotham – once he realizes that I'm here, he'll probably want to confront me." 

"He doesn't accept help easily," Jason said. They stood in silence for a moment, then he added, his voice sad, "Once you do this, he'll never forgive you." 

Diana's heart clenched. She'd known it, guessed it, but hearing Jason say it made the truth more real. "I know," she said softly. "He won't trust me again, not in any personal way. We'll be teammates, nothing more. Not friends…not—" She broke off, unsure of what else she and Bruce were, and unwilling to say it because it made the inevitable loss that much more difficult. "Not anything," she finished quietly. She bowed her head, trying to fight her feelings of uncertainty. She didn't want her relationship with Bruce to end like this. "But what other choice do we have?" 

Jason didn't answer. He knew, as well as she, that there was no other choice save waiting for someone else to die. 

Chances were, that person would be Bruce. 

She sighed. "You should go to him now. He'll be starting his patrol soon." 

He was there one second, gone the next, and Diana stared up into the night. She slowly flew upwards, sat on the top of the building, her legs dangling over the edge. 

And she waited for him.

****

Part XVII 

"Princess." 

Diana turned. She'd known he was there, had heard the sound of the grappling as it wrapped around the ledge. 

Jason was behind him, and he gave her a wink and disappeared. No other ghosts were around. 

"You've been coming to my city far too often," Batman said. 

She tried to grin, knew she failed. This was where she was going to begin her lies to him, hated that she had to do it. "I work here, Batman." 

"On the roof of Uzana Costache's building?" 

"No." She stood finally. "I am here because I had a few questions for her." 

"What kind of questions?" He crossed his arms, let his cape fall around him. "I thought we'd already ascertained that she couldn't reverse the curse." He said the last word as if it was forced from him, as if he hated acknowledging that a curse might actually exist. 

She turned away, unable to face him as she lied, and did her best to act the part. "Because I've been having…dreams." She let her voice waver. "Nightmares." She put a hand to her head, hoping she looked distraught. She probably did – she felt distraught. "Sometimes even when I'm awake." 

"What has that to do with Costache?" His voice gentled slightly. It gave her hope, even as she felt the walls of her deception closing in on her, leading to his inevitable indifference – or hatred. 

She rubbed her arms, as if trying to dispel a chill. "They've been about you – about the ghosts. I wanted to find out if the dreams were part of the curse." 

"Are they?" he asked harshly, and she knew that the idea of her suffering because of a curse on him would eat at him, torment him as much as the ghosts did. Maybe more. 

"Yes," she whispered. "And no. They aren't caused by the curse, but they are because of it. She said that my sensitivity to magic is allowing me to see the effects of the curse – now, in the form of the ghosts, and in the future." 

"She said the dreams are prophetic?" 

"Perhaps." Her throat tightened, and she fought real tears. She hated lying to him. She wished she could simply ask him if he loved her, wished that he would tell her. 

But he wasn't the type of man to say something like that. 

"Diana—" He put his hand on her shoulder, and the tears that she'd been suppressing filled her eyes. She almost couldn't bear his kindness, not when she was deceiving him like this. "What did you see in them?" 

"You. Dying," she said brokenly, her voice choked by the sobs building up within her. "Jason trying to fight the ghosts off, but failing; and the rest of us unable to help you, unknowing that you needed help." She paused, took a shuddery breath. "And everything within me is saying that it is going to happen tomorrow morning." 

He drew her to him, cradled her face in the crook of his neck, his hand on her hair. His breath whispered past her ear as he spoke. "I'm not going to die, Diana. If it makes you feel better, I'll not go to sleep tomorrow morning." 

She shook her head violently. "It doesn't happen while you are asleep, like it did before. They attack you, and you can't call for help. You never have time." 

He stepped back, raised her chin with one gloved hand, made her look at him squarely. "I'll be fine, Diana." 

"Not if you are in Gotham," she said. 

"I'm not going to let them run me out of my city, Diana." His thumb stroked a tear from her cheek. 

"No, I know…and you shouldn't." She took a deep breath. "But will you do one thing for me, just for tomorrow morning?" He didn't answer, and she realized that he wouldn't make a promise without knowing what he was promising. "When you are done with your patrol, just for tonight, will you come to the Watchtower, sleep there this morning?" 

"Diana—" 

"You can use my room," she said urgently, before he could argue. "I have monitor duty early, I won't even be in there by the time you've completed your patrol and gotten to the satellite." He still didn't answer, and she added, "I know it's an inconvenience, but…please…" She lifted her hand, laid her palm alongside his jaw, "I would feel so much better knowing you are safe. Just for one morning. Please. For me, if not for yourself." 

"Diana—" He broke off again, listened to something Oracle was saying, then told her, "I have to go." 

He turned, and she caught his hand. "Will you come?" 

He shook his head, and her heart dropped until he said, "I don't know, Diana." 

She let him go, knowing she'd have to accept that as an answer for now. Jason materialized beside him, followed him over the ledge. 

"Keep him safe, Jason," she whispered. 


	9. Parts XVIII & XIX

Haunted   
Ugly_Girl (mickerella@yahoo.com)

Disclaimers: Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em. The only real crime I'm committing is the overuse of adverbs, and ending far too many sentences with prepositions. 

A/N: This story was inspired by a challenge given on the JL Animated RPG message boards (like Artemis's "Sick Day" short). The first paragraph was given to us…the rest was up to the author. 

HAUNTED

****

Part XVIII

Diana lay in the dark, unable to sleep. Her clock read only 3:30 am; she had monitor duty at six, and she knew that Batman usually didn't end his patrols until four thirty or five. She would be up and getting ready for the day before he would arrive – if he arrived. There was no reason for her not to sleep, then. 

But she couldn't. Her mind raced, as she examined and re-examined her plan, tried to think of any flaws beyond the obvious one: she was going to have to die. She had absolute faith that she would be revived, but she couldn't pretend that there weren't risks. 

And she knew that the biggest one she was going to take was with her heart. 

She turned over on her side and sighed. If only she felt it was safe to take more time. If only she could have a few more days or weeks with him before she destroyed every possibility that could have existed between them. If only—

The door to her room slid open, and her breath caught. She could see him silhouetted against the light from corridor before he shut the door, locked it. Her eyes quickly adjusted, and she watched him as he looked over toward the bed. 

"You're awake," he said.

She realized he wore his night vision lenses, could probably see her open eyes. 

"You're early," she returned quietly. 

"It was a slow night. Should I leave until you are ready to get up?"

She sat up slightly, lifting her head and propping it up on her hand, her elbow against the mattress. "No," she said. "My bed is big enough for the both of us."

He walked to the other side of the bed, sliding off his cowl. "I've set the lock so that only my code and yours can open the door. I don't intend to sleep in my mask." 

She nodded, then realized that he couldn't see her now without his cowl. "That's understandable," she said. She didn't look away as he pulled off his tunic, but she felt compelled to tell him as his hands went to his waistband, "I can see in the dark."

His grin flashed briefly. "Then close your eyes. My uniform is loaded with armor – I don't intend to sleep in it, either." She blushed and rolled over, her back to him. He chuckled. "Don't worry, Princess, I'm not completely immodest. I've brought pajama bottoms." She heard the slide of fabric, then felt the give of the mattress under his weight. 

She turned back over, watched him as he settled into position on his back, his arms bent and hands laced under his head. "Thank you for coming," she said. 

He didn't respond for a few moments. "I'm becoming used to this bed," he said finally. "Maybe one day I'll be able to return the favor, and you'll become used to mine."

Her throat closed. She understood clearly what he was saying, but knew that by tomorrow he wouldn't be saying it anymore. She was suddenly glad that he couldn't see in the dark, couldn't see the tears that flooded her eyes. 

"Maybe someday," she echoed hoarsely. 

He turned onto his side, looked directly at her although she knew he couldn't see her. "Diana…it really was a slow night, but I came here early on purpose."

She stopped breathing, rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, certain her heart was breaking. He was offering this to her now…now, when she knew it was going to be taken away? How could she stand this, knowing she would never get this opportunity again, living her life knowing how it could have been, but never able to experience it more than once? 

What would hurt more, she thought – knowing what it could have been, or wondering about it her entire life? Was the hell of knowing better than the torment of wondering?

He sighed, and she realized that she had taken too long to answer, that he had probably mistaken her indecision for rejection. 

She made her choice. 

"Bruce…" Her voice trembled slightly, and she didn't trust herself to say anything more, except, "Yes." 

She felt him tense, as if disbelieving. "Yes?" 

She nodded, and he must have sensed it, because in the next moment his hand touched her cheek, stroked through her hair. He reached past her, turned on the dim lamp next on the nightstand. 

She blinked. He leaned forward, placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. 

"I spend most of my time in the dark, Princess. I don't want this to be there, too."

She couldn't speak, so she reached up, brought his head down to hers, captured his lips with her own. 

Forcing herself not to think about the future, she concentrated solely on what she was feeling now, the way Bruce softly tasted her mouth, urging her lips to part, sliding his tongue over hers. The way he swept his hands down her body, pulling her against until she felt the heat and hardness of his body against her own. The way he cupped her breasts in his palms, causing her to arch her back, moaning into his mouth. 

The words they spoke were incoherent, urgent whispers as he worshipped her form with his mouth and hands, tasting, testing her responses, wringing cries of pleasure from her. She learned his body, desperate not to miss anything, to experience every sensation possible, to make him feel everything she did. 

She sighed in protest when he stopped, poised above her, trembling from the effort it took to restrain himself. He rested his weight on his elbows, brushed her hair from her forehead, damp with perspiration, and looked down at her. Her skin was flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses, and her eyes…he recognized the emotion in her eyes: beyond desire, beyond anything he'd ever seen before. He knew what he was seeing, but wouldn't name the emotion, wouldn't admit to himself that it was possible.

"Diana." He softly kissed her. "Are you sure?"

In answer, she wrapped her legs around his hips, pulled him down to her. Heat enveloped him; her eyes widened at the unfamiliar sensation, and he bent his head, capturing her gasp with his mouth. He waited there, slowly kissing her, letting her get used to his weight, the feel of him. 

She began moving underneath him, her breath coming in small pants. Matching her rhythm, he watched her, locked his gaze with hers, neither one of them looking away. He slowed their pace, wanting it to last, but knew it wouldn't be much longer when her thrusts became more urgent, as she began to tighten her muscles under him, her hands clenching on the muscles on his shoulders. 

"Bruce…?" Her breathy plea was a mixture of uncertainty, excitement and arousal. 

He read the unnamed emotion in her eyes again, had to keep from closing his own against the intensity of it. "Give in to it, Diana." He reached down between their bodies, stroked gently where they were joined, forcing her over the edge. 

She bit her lip, her body arching, her head thrown back, shuddering. He let her ecstasy feed his, let himself join her. 

They lay there, the air cool on their slick skin. He finally turned to the side, pulling her with him, unwilling to separate himself from her yet. He slid his fingers into her hair, kissing her softly before letting her rest her head on his chest. 

"Bruce, I…" Her voice trailed off, but he knew what she wanted to say, hoped she would say it. He held his breath, but she finally said, "I'm glad you came."

Trying not to feel disappointed, he murmured against her skin, "Me, too."

*********************

He woke the next morning, felt across the bed for her, but the sheets were cool where her body had been, and she was gone. 

In the silence of the empty room, he let himself smile, remembering the look in her eyes, the feeling of her. 

__

Diana loved him.

His smile widened. 

****

Part XIX 

Batman swept into the monitor womb. Diana sat at the console, staring pensively into space. She didn't notice his entrance. 

After ascertaining that no one else was in the room, he walked to her side; she finally broke out of her reverie and glanced up. A blush spread across her cheeks, and she quickly looked away, back to the monitors. 

He couldn't see any regret in her expression, and he found himself breathing more easily. 

"Good morning, Diana," he said softly. 

Her blush deepened, as if his simple greeting had been rife with suggestion. "Good morning…Batman." She said the name in obvious deference to the suit he wore, and he was suddenly pleased that she made an effort to use the name that concealed his identity, even when they were alone. 

He sat in the chair next to hers, swiveled it so that it faced her. He let his eyes trace the line of her profile, her jaw. "You shouldn't be embarrassed, Diana." 

She darted a surprised glance at him. "I – I'm not." She took a deep breath. "I'm just not certain of how one is supposed to act after…" Breaking off, she searched for the correct words. "After…" 

He leaned forward out of the chair, pressed his mouth to hers, letting his tongue sweep between her open lips briefly. He sat back down. "After a night of that?" 

She nodded numbly. 

"I don't think there are any rules about how to act," he said. "Just try to be yourself, do what you usually do." 

She smiled. "Do you usually kiss whoever is on monitor duty?" 

"Yes," he said, keeping his expression serious, glad that her shyness was finally fading. She didn't realize it, but he was acting – and thinking – _very_ unusually at that moment. "I especially like mornings when it is GL's turn." 

She laughed aloud. "Shayera might have objections to that." 

"Shayera? Why?" Had some aspect of the relationship between John and Hawkgirl escaped his radar? 

"You mean you don't already know?" She grinned, and raised her eyes toward the ceiling. "I've finally figured out something that he doesn't know first," she said jokingly. 

His eyes narrowed as he thought about that – not that he could say anything, he realized, especially now that he and Diana were…were… 

He forced himself to think it: Lovers. They were lovers. 

He wondered why the idea didn't bother him as much as it should have. He couldn't afford this type of attachment, shouldn't have sought it out last night, and not sure that he would have under different circumstances. But recent events and the hauntings had brought him closer to Diana in ways that he hadn't thought possible, and shouldn't have allowed – yet he had. 

"What are your plans for this evening?" He thought that a dinner at the Manor probably wouldn't be possible, or even desirable considering the other 'guests' that might show up, but a meal in Metropolis might…be… 

His mental planning ground to a halt as he saw the expressions that flitted briefly across her face: despair, resignation…regret. Finally, she forced an apologetic smile, but it didn't reach her eyes, and he could see by the tightness of her skin that she was barely able to maintain the expression. "I…I have plans with Shayera." She looked away from him, at the monitors. 

He stared at her profile, trying to ignore the feeling that he'd just been kicked in the gut. She was lying. Why? Was she wishing that she hadn't said 'yes' the night before? Was she simply uncertain, or scared by her feelings for him? 

"Diana," he said, his voice quiet, "are you regretting last night?" 

She jerked her head around, her eyes wide. "No!" She said the word forcefully, her face earnest. Her eyes softened, and she said, "I…I am just a little overwhelmed. Everything is happening so fast." 

He could tell that wasn't quite the truth, either – at least not the entire truth. 

He stood. "Perhaps tomorrow, then." 

She nodded, then caught his hand before he could go. Her words came out in a rush. "I get off duty in a few minutes, then I have to go to Dr. Thompkin's clinic, but I planned to drop by the Manor to return Alfred's books, and then maybe borrow a couple more." She hesitated, and that strained look passed over her features again before her expression became resolute. "Can I see you then?" 

He lifted her hand, pressed a kiss into her palm. "I will be working in the cave," he said. "Once you have finished in the library, have Alfred show you down." 

He turned, strode toward the exit, was almost there when Diana grabbed him, spun him around, pressing his back against the door. She raised her face to his and kissed him desperately, her arms wrapping around him, fingers bunching his cape. He returned the kiss, slowly taking control of it, softening it until she relaxed against him. He eventually lifted his mouth from hers, their harsh breaths mingling. 

"Bruce…" Her eyes and lips were moist. "I need to tell you so much." 

He smiled reassuringly. "Tell me later, Diana. We'll have more time then." 

She stepped back, a sad smile on her lips. "Later," she echoed. 


	10. Parts XX & XXI

Haunted   
Ugly_Girl (mickerella@yahoo.com)

Disclaimers: Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em. The only real crime I'm committing is the overuse of adverbs, and ending far too many sentences with prepositions. 

HAUNTED

****

Part XX 

Alfred appeared on the monitor that acted as an intercom between the house and the cave. "Her highness has arrived, Master Bruce." 

Bruce knew that -- the sensors around the house tracked anyone coming into the area. He'd been keeping an eye on them for more than an hour now, wondering when she would arrive. Her shift at the clinic had ended at three, and it was almost four. "Show her to the cave when she's finished in the library, Alfred." 

The butler nodded. "Very good, sir." 

The monitor darkened as Alfred broke the connection, and Bruce forced himself back to work, trying not to be distracted by thoughts of the woman in his house, or memories of the night before. 

It didn't work. The cave suddenly seemed full of intriguing possibilities that he could try when she got down there -- his chair, the medtables, maybe even the Batmobile… 

He shook his head, made himself concentrate. He analyzed DNA for one of the murder cases he was working on, updated his files. It was past five when he looked at the clock, frowned. 

He considered tapping into the intercom in the library, suggesting a few books for her to speed her along. He could do it in his impatient Batman voice so that she wouldn't realize he just wanted her in the cave as quickly as possible -- she would just think he was being his normal, abrupt self. 

Or…the library was full of possibilities as well. Tables, chairs, sheepskin rugs in front of the fireplace… 

He stood, but before he could turn to go Jason appeared beside him. 

"Bruce…" The young man stared up at him through the Robin mask, his eyes brilliant with emotion. "I just wanted you to know that you were a good father to me." 

Bruce sucked in a harsh breath. "Jason…you were a good son. And partner." 

Jason smiled, then looked behind Bruce at the large computer screen. "Don't treat her too harshly, afterwards. She is doing this because she loves you." 

Bruce's eyebrows drew together in confusion, and he turned to look at the screen. "What are you--" 

The monitor filled with Diana's visage, then she moved backward, and Bruce could see the interior of the library, the medical items laid out on the table, Alfred reclining on the sofa behind her. 

Her lips were slightly blue, and her hands trembled. 

Bruce slammed the speaker button so that she could hear him, see him. "Diana, are you all right? Alfred? Were you attacked by the ghosts?" 

Her voice shook from the tremors that wracked her body, but her gaze never wavered from his. "No. We've induced hypothermia in me so that I have a better chance of being brought back, like a drowning victim in icy water. It slows the process of death." She paused, gestured toward Alfred. "Alfred is fine as well -- I put him to sleep using pressure points, so that he couldn't stop me or try to warn you before we were ready." She smiled a little. "Or bring me back too soon." 

"Bring you back?" he repeated, horror and realization dawning. 

"We've calculated that it will take about two minutes for me to clinically die, but not long enough for irreversible brain damage to occur if you bring me back before four minutes," she said softly. "That's just enough time for you to run from the cave to the library, and to save me." 

We? Bruce noticed for the first time, on the edges of the monitor, the apparitions that flickered in and out of focus, as if the electronic signal couldn't carry their image. Innocents -- Roxana; Jim Gordon's wife, Sarah; countless others who had been victims of the criminals of Gotham City, all whom he'd been unable to help, or too late to help. 

He leaned forward, his voice urgent, trying to keep his fear from showing. "Diana, you can't do this--" 

She touched the monitor with her fingers, and he imagined her stroking his image on the small screen in the library. He could almost feel her touch. "Bruce, I can. I'm the only one who can do it, who can survive it. The curse needs to be broken, or eventually you will be victim to it." 

His mind raced, searching for some way to stop her. He made his words cold, harsh. "Diana, you can't lift this curse. It has to be lifted by one of my loved ones. You can only see the ghosts because you are 'sensitive to magic'" He spat the last words out as if the idea disgusted him. His face was an emotionless mask as he said, "I don't love you, Diana. I couldn't ever love you." 

Her hand falling away from the screen, she smiled sadly. "Liar," she said softly. She took a deep breath, added, "In a moment I'm going to hit three pressure points in myself -- one to stop my breathing, the other to stop my heart, the last to knock me unconscious so that I can't help myself if I start to panic." 

"Diana--" 

She interrupted him. "I've got the defibrillator, an oxygen mask, lidocaine--and everything else you might need--with detailed instructions laid out for you behind me." 

His throat was so tight his next words were whispered. "Diana, please don't do this." 

She hesitated, and her eyes filled with tears as she looked him directly in the eyes. "I love you, Bruce." 

She held his gaze for a moment, while he stared at her helplessly. Then, with stiffened fingers, she jabbed at her neck twice, her chest once. She fell to the ground, out of sight of the monitor. 

"Diana!" He shouted her name even as he turned, taking off at a run, his heart pounding. 

Jason followed close behind him.

****

Part XXI 

Bruce calculated and recalculated the fastest route to the library, forcing down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. Up the stairs to the main house, down the northwest corridor, up the three flights of stairs to the fourth floor, then back up the corridor on that floor until he got to the library – he was halfway to the main house when he cursed himself softly – he hadn't brought a grappling, which would have cut down the time by at least twenty five or thirty seconds, allowing him to bypass the stairs and hallways, shooting a line from the bottom floor of the main hall up to the fourth floor. 

He reached the main house: thirty seconds had passed. Her image flashed in front of his eyes as he sprinted down the hallway, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors. 

__

I love you, Bruce. 

Forty five seconds, and he was on the first flight of stairs. He was pushing himself to the limit, but his breathing was even, his muscles moving perfectly, fluidly. His body wasn't going to betray him— 

—even if she had. 

__

She is doing this because she loves you. 

Second flight of stairs, and he tried to force any thoughts of betrayal and love from his mind. The only thing that mattered was getting to her, stopping her from dying. 

He reached the top of the third flight of stairs, turned…and skidded to a halt. Jason stopped next to him, and together they looked at the ghosts crowding the hallway. 

__

You couldn't save us, you won't save her… 

Your torment won't end this easily… 

Your time has come, Batman. We've waited for this moment for a long time… 

There were at least a hundred, maybe two, swarming in the corridor, their faces leering at Bruce, their ghostly blood and gore dripping onto the carpet in a stain only Bruce could see. He tried to see a way around them, over them – and realized that he would have to go through them. Jason wouldn't be able to fight them all, not quickly enough for Bruce to get to Diana. 

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and ran forward. 

It was like being dropped into icy water; his legs, arms immediately felt heavy but he continued to plow through them, his hands and face numbing quickly. He heard Jason shouting behind him, but couldn't make sense of his words. 

He could tell that he was slowing down, and he ground his teeth together and pushed on, the freezing air burning his lungs, his eyes watering. 

His numb feet slipped on the floor, and he fell, but he still crawled forward. "Diana…" They were both going to die, and for a moment he almost welcomed it. 

__

I love you, Bruce. 

He forced himself to his feet again, then realized that something was happening around him. The ghosts were backing away from him, distracted by something. Bruce felt the warmth returning to his extremities as they dispersed, and in a glance, he saw what was taking place – the innocents, led by Jason, were fighting the ghostly criminals. 

__

It was you, you shot me and my boy. Why? 

I was just standing there, I would have given you my purse! 

Some of the innocents singled out, fought the ones who had killed them – others simply pounded on any available opponent. 

Jason was in the middle, fighting five or six at a time, a smile on his face. He paused in the middle of a kick, saw Bruce, and shouted, "Go!" 

One minute thirty seconds. It felt as if he had been in the middle of the ghosts for much longer than fifteen seconds, but the feeling was quickly returning to his body, the icy sensation easing away from his limbs. 

Five more seconds and he burst through the library entrance, took in the situation in one glance: Alfred on the couch, the medical supplies laid out neatly, waiting for him – Diana, convulsing on the floor, her body seizing from the lack of oxygen. 

And his parents, looking at him with expectant expressions on their faces. 


	11. Parts XXII & XXIII

Haunted   
Ugly_Girl (mickerella@yahoo.com)

Disclaimers: Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em. The only real crime I'm committing is the overuse of adverbs, and ending far too many sentences with prepositions. 

HAUNTED

****

Part XXII 

Although a part of him wanted to stop, question his parents at that moment, he didn't waste any time. Realizing that he might need the gentleman's help, he ran to Alfred first, hit a pressure point that would wake the older man, then darted across the room to Diana's side. Alfred would be conscious in a few seconds – he wouldn't wait until the other man was functioning before helping Diana. 

Her convulsing had nearly stopped, which was both bad and good, Bruce knew. It meant that she was closer to death – but also that she wouldn't hit him with an involuntarily flailing arm as he worked over her. Her strength was too great; she might accidentally hurt Bruce very badly while she seized, and he couldn't take that chance. 

But he also couldn't risk waiting. He knelt beside her, cataloguing everything she'd provided for him: the auto external defibrillator, the drugs, the instructions. He knew what to do, forced himself to stem the rise of panic that he felt as her seizing slowed, forced himself to remain calm. 

He hit her three times first, on the points which she had pressed to knock herself unconscious, that stopped her breathing and heart. It wouldn't cause those functions to restart, but it would release the hold it had on her, allowing him to begin CPR, allowing the CPR to work. He checked her pulse, her breathing…nothing. 

His hands were steady as he gently wiped away the saliva that had gathered around her mouth during her convulsions, tilted her head back, and pressed his lips to hers. 

He breathed, forcing air into her lungs, then sat up and began cardiac massage. He began counting to himself, feeling her ribcage flex under his hands. 

His father was counting with him. "…fourteen…fifteen…breathe for her, Bruce." 

He had already pressed his mouth to hers again, watching her chest rise as he did. 

"Good." Thomas knelt on the other side of her body, Martha next to him. 

Bruce returned to her chest, pressing down again and again, watching her face, then bending to force more air into her lungs. 

"I made sure that she used a pressure point that would send her heart into ventricular fibrillation, son, instead of completely stopping it. If the CPR doesn't work, the AED should." 

"I didn't feel a pulse," Bruce said. 

"You wouldn't, it's probably too weak and irregular." 

"…four…five…" Bruce counted the chest compressions, continued counting them internally as he asked, "You knew she was going to do this?" 

He caught the glance his mother and father shared. "You might even say we suggested it to her." Martha's voice was quiet. 

"Respiration, Bruce, then go ahead and defib," Thomas commanded. 

__

Suggested it? Bruce couldn't question that, his mouth was on Diana's again, her lips slack and cold under his own. 

Last night, they had been warm, moving sweetly against him, her breaths and urgent whispers parting them. 

This was taking too long. 

The AED was on and ready for him. He ripped open her buttoned shirt, thankful that she wasn't wearing her uniform underneath, nor any undergarments that would take an extra second to remove – just an amulet around her neck, which was out of the way. 

The buttons flew around before landing on the rug, rolling to the hardwood floor with tiny clicks. 

__

…his mother's pearls falling to the ground… 

He set the paddles against her skin, checked the monitor. The machine analyzed her condition, recommended he press the button to shock her. 

"Wait, son." 

Bruce looked up. 

Thomas held his gaze. "She's about to die. She _has_ to die for the curse to be stopped." 

Bruce shocked her, flinching as her back arched, her body flopping up, then down. He checked the monitor again – no change. He bent down, breathed into her lungs again, waited for the AED to analyze her condition and recharge. 

"I don't care about the curse," he said, his voice harsh. 

"She does. She loves you," Martha said. "We chose her because we knew she could do this, survive this." 

"She'll survive because I'm not going to wait around, letting her die," Bruce ground out. The machine beeped, and he shocked her again. "Love doesn't have a thing to do with saving her, or her ability to live. You two died." 

The monitor read that she was still in fibrillation, and he pressed his mouth to hers, trying to will her to breathe, knowing that she was slipping away. 

"We loved you, Bruce." Thomas's words struck him, hard. "We've always loved you, wanted the best for you. And we want you to be happy, not haunted by things that were never your fault." 

"That you loved me was never in doubt," Bruce said, his throat tight. Another shock, and he closed his eyes briefly, unwilling to watch her body jump again, then settle back lifelessly. He looked at his parents. "But convincing the woman I love to commit suicide in order to save me is the last way to make me happy. You know I can't…after this…I can't bear it." 

"Just don't push her away." Martha leaned forward, touched her hand to Bruce's face. He wanted it to be warm, comforting – but it was cold. 

He didn't respond. The monitors showed no change – except that her heart spasms were weakening even further. 

In a moment, he knew, there would be nothing left for him _to_ push away. 

"Diana." He whispered her name, kissed her cheek briefly before beginning another round of respiration. 

He felt her go, saw her spirit gather and seem to coalesce, lift away from her body. It touched his lips, and he welcomed the bitter cold. 

Then her ghost was gone. As were his parents, he realized dimly. 

It worked, then. The curse had been broken. Diana, gone.

His parents gone, again.

He felt the strength drain from him. The curse was broken, and it felt like he was, too. 

A hand touched his shoulder, and it felt like he'd wanted his mother's to feel: warm, comforting. 

"Master Bruce?" 

Grief welled up in him, rage accompanying it. "I'm not giving up yet. I'll be damned if she'll get away with this. Alfred, prepare the I.V. and sodium bicarbonate and epinephrine. And we may administer an intracardiac injection. I'll do everything, anything." 

He thought he heard pride in Alfred's voice. "Of course, sir." 

Bruce began CPR again, sweat beading on his face from the effort. "I'm not letting you go like this." He knew the time; it had been just over four minutes. She needed to come back, _now._

"Diana, please…" He said the words against her lips as he lifted his head from hers. He compressed her chest harder but just as rythmically, becoming more frantic. He felt a rib give under his hands, but kept pressing, up and down. 

He saw Alfred slide a needle into a vein in her arm, picked up the AED, trying it one last time. She was gone, but her heart was still spasming weakly, enough for the monitor to pick up. "Clear, Alfred." 

Her back arched again, and he watched, feeling helpless, the grief and rage slowly dying from him as she fell back down, her body slack, limp. 

And the monitor picked up a faint pulse. 

He looked almost disbelievingly at the readout. It was weak, but it was there. And then a thready, tortured breath issued from her lips. 

He stared as Alfred picked up an oxygen mask, placed it over her mouth. The color in her face began to return. He looked up, met the older man's eyes. 

"Very good, sir," Alfred said. 

****

Part XXIII   
  
Diana's chest ached; it hurt to breathe, and she kept her eyes closed for a few moments, trying to remember, trying to ascertain her condition now.   
  
Her ribs were taped -- probably injured from the CPR.   
  
She felt the itchy point of an I.V. insertion, but could tell that the needle had already been removed.   
  
She was surrounded by Bruce's scent.   
  
Bruce.   
  
She opened her eyes, saw him standing beside the bed, watching her with his arms crossed, his features blank. He didn't change his expression when he noticed she was awake.   
  
"I'm in your bed," she said. Her voice was hoarse, and she coughed, trying to clear and moisten it. He silently bent to the side, gave her a glass of water from a nightstand. She took a sip, studying him, trying to find some hint of emotion but seeing nothing.   
  
She had known it would be like this.   
  
Trying to smile, she said, "It looks like you've returned the favor, and I've ended up in your room this time. But I'm still not as used to this bed as you are to mine."   
  
"You've been in a coma for three days." He took the glass from her, set it down. "Now that you've woken, we'll move you to the Watchtower." He crossed his arms again -- a defensive gesture, Diana realized -- and added harshly, "I want you out of my house."   
  
Her heart twisted, but she nodded numbly. "I understand," she whispered.   
  
"Do you?" he asked, and she watched as his control crumbled, as his eyes grew dark with anger. "Do you understand?"   
  
"You feel that I've betrayed you," she said softly. "That I went behind your back."   
  
He stared at her for a few moments, and she could see him visibly rein in his temper. He suddenly gave a short, humorless bark of laughter. "I go behind the League's back constantly, Diana. I always do what I feel is best for the League and its members -- I'd hardly judge you for the same thing."   
  
She sat up, her ribs groaning in protest, but suddenly feeling at a distinct disadvantage with him towering over her while she was lying down. "Then what is it?" she cried out, her own frustration boiling up. "I can feel you pushing me away -- I knew it would happen, but I went through with my plan anyway. Why, if not out of a feeling of betrayal?"   
  
He placed his knee on the bed, leaning forward, bracing his arms on the headboard, his hands on either side of her shoulders. "I loved you," he said softly.   
  
She felt the breath from his words on her cheek, could scarcely believe he said them -- but didn't miss the past tense of his declaration. "Then why?" she whispered, her tone matching his.   
  
He shifted his weight, lifted one hand to trace the line of her jaw, rubbed a thumb over her trembling lips. "I've devoted my entire life to one thing, Diana: making sure that no one in Gotham loses what I lost years ago, or goes through what I did." He paused, kissed her gently.   
  
Her throat tightened. It wasn't a kiss of love or passion, but of farewell. Her arms reached up, intending to hold him to her, but he drew back and the mask he wore -- that emotionless expression that worked as well as the Bat mask -- was back in place. When he continued speaking, he was the thoroughly the Bat. "By trying to kill yourself, you did exactly what I've been fighting against all these years: you tried to take away a life, your own. Someone whose loss would have been devastating, not just to me, but to the League, your friends and Amazons. And worst of all, you did it for me. I've never wanted nor asked for that kind of sacrifice."   
  
"But I'm alive, Bruce. You saved me."   
  
"And if I hadn't? If you'd been wrong?"   
  
"I wasn't," she said firmly. "The curse was broken, and I'm alive now."   
  
"Congratulations," he returned, his voice hard. "But what is different now? Do you think that just because I can't see them that I am not still haunted by them? That I don't question the last twenty years of my life, the effectiveness of what I do every time I don't save someone? That I don't feel guilty now? And imagine how I would have felt if I hadn't been able to--" He broke off.   
  
"Your life was in danger, Bruce," she nearly shouted, and her ribs screamed in response. "What was I supposed to do?"   
  
"My life is in danger every day," he said. "That's the life I chose."   
  
"And so is mine," Diana responded, shaking her head. "And I chose to risk it one more time to help you."   
  
He nodded abruptly. "And that is your choice to make. Risking your life -- I just don't want it to be for me again."   
  
A short, disbelieving laugh escaped her. "So I can risk my life anytime, but my death only matters if it is for you?"   
  
"It would always matter, Diana," he said, his voice soft. "But I've got to draw the line somewhere -- Alfred, Dick, even Jason…they all take risks with their lives, but they were never for me. I can't let it be for me, only for the mission, and they know that. But you--when you love someone, you'd risk everything for them."   
  
"You're wrong." She threw off the bedcovers, turned and stood on unsteady legs. "Everything they do is for you, because they believe in you, in what you believe. And me--" She broke off, smiled. "You're right. If I love someone, I'll risk myself for them." Her face turned serious then. "But if I don't love someone, I'll risk myself anyway. Bruce, if you send me away, whether I love you or not, it doesn't mean I won't risk myself for your life again."   
  
He shook his head. "If I remove you from my life, except as a teammate, then it won't be me you save, the man you love -- it will be the life of a teammate."   
  
She took a step forward; he didn't move, but she saw him draw back internally from her. She stopped, suddenly angry again. "You are being a hypocrite. Every day you go out and risk your life for other people, yet you won't let me do the same for you."   
  
"You didn't just risk it, Diana -- you died."   
  
She stared at him, realizing that they were talking in circles, that there was no way to convince him. Her shoulders drooped, and she walked forward, passed by him without making a sound.   
  
"Diana?"   
  
"I'll meet you in the cave," she said tonelessly over her shoulder. "Then you can take me to the Watchtower. I'm going downstairs to say goodbye to Alfred first." She stopped at the door, but didn't look back at him as she said, "You can take your congratulations back -- you were right, breaking the curse didn't do anything. You're still being haunted, and will be haunted for as long as you push those who love you enough to die for you away. And I've just realized that a thousand of my deaths couldn't change that, nor a thousand of my lives." She opened the door, stepped through. "Nor a thousand times my love," she finished sadly.   
  
He let her go, staring wordlessly at the door, his arms crossed over his chest.   
  
It was for the best, he told himself. A little pain now instead of much more later.   
  
Only his pain wasn't small, and the further she walked away, the more it seemed to grow.


	12. Parts XXIV & XXV Conclusion

Haunted   
Ugly_Girl (mickerella@yahoo.com)

Disclaimers: Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em. The only real crime I'm committing is the overuse of adverbs, and ending far too many sentences with prepositions. 

A/N: This story was inspired by a challenge given on the JL Animated RPG message boards (like Artemis's "Sick Day" short). The first paragraph was given to us…the rest was up to the author. Special thanks to Artemis and all the members of the message board for their support while I wrote this. 

Also, thanks for all the reviews thus far, and I hope you enjoy the ending!

HAUNTED

****

Part XXIV   
  
"Are you insane?" Shayera shouted. "What were you thinking?"   
  
Diana raised an eyebrow, remained calm in the face of her friend's fury. "I saved his life."   
  
Shayera paced the room, swinging her mace beside her as she shook her head, still disbelieving what Diana had told her. "Insane? Stupid." She looked accusingly at Diana. "You could have asked me for help. Then you would have had someone there, just in case Batman couldn't have gotten to you."   
  
Diana lifted her shoulders, her hands in a gesture that said what was I supposed to do? "That might have compromised his identity, Shayera. You couldn't have been there with me."   
  
"Then you could have done it in the Watchtower, dammit!"   
  
"And either J'onn would have tried to stop me, or Superman, or even you -- and you probably would have brought me back too quickly." Diana paused. "Besides, I think it was necessary that Batman did it himself." The ghosts had been there because he felt guilty for them -- if nothing else, he at least knew that he had saved her.   
  
If only that.   
  
Diana continued, "In any case, wouldn't you have done the same for John, even if he insisted that you don't?"   
  
Shayera froze, glared at Diana, lifting her mace to point it at her threateningly. "Don't you dare try to use that argument on me."   
  
Diana smiled. "All right -- then would you have done the same for me?"   
  
Shayera pursed her lips. "As mad as I am at you right now, probably not." She sighed, then added in a growl, "Okay, maybe I would have."   
  
They stared at each other for a moment; Shayera broke, ran over to Diana and wrapped her arms around her. The breath whooshed out of Diana's injured chest, but she held onto Shayera just as tightly.   
  
"It was still stupid, though," Shayera said when they parted.   
  
"I would do it again," Diana said. "It was worth it."   
  
"Worth it?" Shayera frowned. "That makes it sound as if you lost something." Diana didn't respond, and understanding dawned on Shayera's face. "Oh--you, and Batman. I can imagine he wasn't too happy with you."   
  
"That's an understatement," Diana said wryly, with more humor than she actually felt. She couldn't wallow in her pain and disappointment, though -- it simply wasn't in her nature. In any case, she'd known it would happen.   
  
Shayera hefted her mace. "Do you want me to make him see things differently?" She grinned.   
  
Diana laughed. "No, but thank you for the thought."   
  
"The offer will remain open indefinitely," Shayera said. "I'll even give him a head start."   
  
Standing up, Diana shook her head. "If he ever does see things differently -- well, he'll have to do it by himself."   
  
Shayera patted her arm. "Just be yourself, Diana. He'll break down eventually."   
  
Diana wasn't so sure, but she nodded anyway. "Eventually," she agreed. "Let's go to the kitchen and get a milkshake," she said.   
  
Shayera nodded, her eyes sad for her friend, but her lips smiling. "And we'll see if we can find and torment Flash."   
  
Normally, they would have giggled -- but this time, each woman just smiled a little.   
  
**************************   
  
Shayera lay in John's arms, stroking the skin of his chest, thinking about Diana. "If you were in danger and the only way of saving your life was to let me die, would you? Even if you knew that you could probably revive me?"   
  
John shifted so that he could look into her eyes. "Is this a test?"   
  
"No."   
  
He remained silent for a moment, then said, "I don't think so. I wouldn't want to risk it."   
  
Shayera sighed, scooting upwards so that she could softly kiss his mouth. "That's what I thought you would say." She paused. "I wouldn't let you, either."   
  
Stiffening, John growled, "Let me?"   
  
Shayera tucked her head into his shoulder so that he couldn't see her face and grinned. "That's right. I wouldn't let you, soldier."   
  
He took the bait, rolling her over, staring at her intently. She could see the laughter in his eyes, though. "What else wouldn't you let me do?"   
  
"Oh, not much," she said airily. "But probably not die for me."   
  
"And if I decided that it was my choice?"   
  
Shayera pretended to think about that, said, "Then I guess I wouldn't hold it against you for very long. Unless you died, of course. Then I'd hate you forever, and start dating the Flash."   
  
John narrowed his eyes. "Is this just a way to kick me out of your bed, and get it on with the speedster?"   
  
"Oh, yes, definitely," she said.   
  
"Then I guess I'll have to work a little harder, convince you to keep me here a little longer," he growled playfully.   
  
"Oh, I'll let you do that," Shayera breathed.   
  
*******************   
  
Gotham was quiet.   
  
He didn't miss the whispers. He didn't miss the crowding apparitions. He wondered about his parents, but he didn't allow himself to miss the opportunity he might have had with their ghosts.   
  
He missed her, though.   
  
She was hurting, too. He'd seen her briefly on a security camera in the kitchen, drinking milkshakes with Shayera. A brief glance was all that he'd allowed himself, but he'd noted immediately that although she was talking and laughing with Hawkgirl, her smile never quite reached her eyes, and every now and then, a sad expression flitted across her face.   
  
He knew she thought he was being unreasonable, stubborn. She was probably right, but that didn't bother him: he was well aware that many people considered him unreasonable and stubborn about many things -- and he'd admitted to himself long ago that he was.   
  
She was definitely right about one thing: the curse had been broken, but he was still haunted.   
  
During times like this, when he was still, she haunted him. Her face, her touch, her laugh. He could see her, feel her, hear her.   
  
And knowing that she wasn't really there left him as cold as the real ghosts had.   
  
He shot a line across the alley, swung out into the night.   
  
If he didn't remain still -- maybe she wouldn't haunt him.   
  
Maybe. 

****

Part XXV   
  
"Hello, Princess. Not reading fairy tales today?"   
  
Diana jumped a little, but schooled her expression before she turned. Bruce stood in the doorway of the examination room she was preparing, his playboy leer plastered across his face. She wanted to smash his nose in.   
  
Apparently, despite the fact that he treated her only as a teammate in the Watchtower, he still felt that he had to keep up his Bruce Wayne persona in public.   
  
"No fairy tales today." She paused, added, "Do we have an audience, Bruce?"   
  
He slowly nodded, somehow making the simple movement sensual – for someone else's benefit, Diana guessed. "A group of nurses in the hall," he said quietly.   
  
"Why don't you go flirt with them, then?"   
  
A lazy smile curved his lips. "Partially because they are busier than you, and partially because of the stolen medical equipment – that belongs to this clinic – that I found in my home."   
  
Diana blushed, muttered, "I forgot to take it back with me. I'll go get it, return it."   
  
His lips tightened for a moment, then relaxed into his Bruce Wayne smirk. "A three day coma will do that – make a person forget. No need to go get the stuff, though – I've brought it with me today. Alfred is sneaking it in the back door as we speak."   
  
"I highly doubt that Alfred is 'sneaking'," Diana said, unable to imagine the dignified gentleman doing anything in a furtive manner. Subtle, yes…furtive, no. Which was one of the reasons she hadn't applied to him for help with her scheme. She bit her lip, wondered, "Bruce…you don't blame him for what I did, do you? Because he wasn't able to stop me, and he is the reason I had access to your house?"   
  
His expression didn't waver, but a hard glint entered his eyes. "No. And I am the reason you had access to the Manor – if I hadn't allowed it, Alfred wouldn't have considered letting you in. I know exactly where that blame lies."   
  
She nodded. "On me."   
  
"On me," he corrected. He glanced at the nurses, looked back at Diana, who was staring at him with surprise on her face. And maybe a little hope. He deliberately squashed it with his next words, spoken quietly. "I should have found a way to break the curse, but I wasn't looking hard enough. I shouldn't have gotten close to you, and I shouldn't have taken the risk of letting you into my home. Those were mistakes that I won't make again."   
  
She turned, her back to him, straightened some already meticulously organized supplies. When she spoke, her throat was tight, but the words didn't tremble, her voice was even. "You didn't have much of a choice, Bruce," she pointed out. "I took the initiative, found out about the curse, decided to break it. You couldn't have stopped me, so you made no mistakes."   
  
"Except for showing up that night. I should have realized what you were trying to do."   
  
She whirled around, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "I'm sure that I can find a scalpel, Bruce. It'll be faster." Shaking with rage and pain, she walked forward, brushed past him.   
  
She stopped suddenly, but kept her face turned from him. "If it makes you feel better, then know this: that night was never a part of my plan. If there was any mistake made that night, it was all yours. Congratulations—you really do have something for which to blame yourself. You may spend your life regretting that night, and that's fine; but never forget that the rest of it was all me."   
  
"Diana—"   
  
She stalked past the staring, wide-eyed nurses. "Don't believe the rumors," she said, her nose in the air. "He's ridiculously bad in bed – not fit for a plastic doll, let alone royalty," she sniffed.   
  
If he could be the playboy in public around her, then she'd be damned if she wasn't the princess around him.   
  
**************   
  
Bruce watched her disappear down the hallway, ignoring the nurses, who were staring and giggling. Then he stepped into the examination room, closed the door, and began laughing.   
  
She had a spine of steel. He had been cruel, he knew; it had been deliberate. But even so, though he'd obviously hurt her, she'd withstood it, gotten back at him in her own way. He sobered quickly.   
  
He didn't like to hurt her.   
  
He'd told himself that the pain – hers and his – wouldn't be as bad if she was antagonistic toward him. In the Watchtower, he'd been cool toward her; she, however, had been the same, friendly, open Diana that she'd always been, the one who had made him fall in love with her. He treated her as a teammate, she continued to treat him as a friend.   
  
As she treated all of her teammates – as friends. He tried not to feel jealous, even as he forced himself not to acknowledge that even before the hauntings, she had treated him as a different kind of friend from the rest. As he had her.   
  
He didn't want that friendship, or more than that. Less would be better. He'd prefer antagonism or indifference to her friendliness. Otherwise, his feelings would never fade.   
  
But he didn't like to hurt her.   
  
The door opened.   
  
"Sir? The purloined equipment has been returned."   
  
"Thank you, Alfred," he said.   
  
"Princess Diana passed me in the hall, and informed me that you were an 'ass from Augeas's stables'." Alfred kept a straight face. "I wonder if her highness thinks that Augeas only keeps the highest quality asses."   
  
Bruce's lips twitched. "I doubt the princess thinks that at all. I'm sure she considers Augeas's stock the lowest of them all."   
  
"Good," Alfred said, giving Bruce a hard stare. "I'd hate for such a lovely, brave and intelligent woman to be wrong."   
  
Realizing that Alfred had just insulted him, Bruce glared at the older man.   
  
Alfred gazed back, unfazed.   
  
*****************   
  
"Diana, get those stray bullets! We don't want any civilian casualties!" Batman yelled, and the Intergang thieves who were defending their position within the National Museum of History.   
  
She darted forward, bracelets flashing, deflecting the shots away from the crowd that had gathered across the avenue.   
  
"Get back!" she yelled at them. Really, what was it about Man's World that the population was attracted to violence and death, even at the risk of their own safety? Car wrecks, bank robberies, crime scenes, Nascar racing – they couldn't tear their eyes away.   
  
"There's Superman!" A young boy shouted, hero-worship in his eyes. He ran forward, his mother close behind him.   
  
"Oh, Great Hera," Diana breathed. She sped over to him, scooped him up in the middle of the street, felt a bullet tear into her upper arm. Better than the boy's head, she thought, grimacing in pain.   
  
The shooting stopped, and she looked, saw Superman holding each of the guns, the criminals wrapped tightly up with a Batcable. Superman must have used his speed, disarmed them, while Batman finished the job.   
  
She wasn't surprised that Batman had disappeared – this type of fight was too public for him to hang around for long.   
  
Diana handed the child back to his sobbing mother, skipping the lecture that she felt like giving to the woman about staying around a dangerous situation. It wasn't her place; and besides, if the woman didn't learn from the experience, nothing that Diana said would change her mind.   
  
She held her hand over the bullet wound to stem the blood flow, floated over to Superman, who was standing over the trussed men.   
  
"Are you okay, Diana?" He examined her arm with his x-ray vision, his face concerned. "The bone looks alright, and I don't see any remains of the bullet."   
  
"It passed through the flesh." The pain was fading to a sharp throbbing which she could tolerate fairly well. "It just looks bad, since it is bleeding so heavily."   
  
Superman nodded, then gestured for her to go. "I'm going to drop this group off at police headquarters. I'll meet you back at the Javelin in twenty minutes. Can you bandage that up yourself?"   
  
"Yes." She lifted into the air. "I'll let the others at the Watchtower know that everything's under control, too."   
  
She landed next to the Javelin, opened the hatchway, flew inside. Batman sat at the control panel, accessing his computer. He didn't look up as she entered, and she didn't say anything to him, either, simply walking over to the first aid cabinet, pulling out some bandages and antiseptic, placing them on the counter. She wiped away most of the blood, poured on the antiseptic liquid, gritting her teeth as it stung through the wound; the medicine felt worse than the injury.   
  
Gentle, gloved fingers took the bottle from her, lifted her arm. "You were hit," he said, examining the ragged edges of the entry and exit sites.   
  
She stared at her arm, not daring to look up at him when he was so close. Her anger had faded slowly over the last week, and she'd recognized his words at the clinic as a method of pushing her away. And if he felt the need to push her away -- then he must still care for her.   
  
Sometimes, he could be an idiot.   
  
"It's a clean hit," she said. "Superman x-rayed it."   
  
"How did it happen? You are fast enough to block them."   
  
"I was saving a child's life," she said wryly. "And my arm got in the way of a bullet aimed for his head as I picked him up."   
  
He pulled off a length of bandage, began wrapping. "Why didn't you use your bracelets?"   
  
"Because I didn't see the bullet coming," she answered, somewhat impatiently. "I was more concerned with getting him back into the crowd."   
  
"But if you had done as you were supposed to, and block the bullets as they came out of the museum and toward the crowd, there would have been no chance for this kid to be hit. Did he get across the street onto the museum side?"   
  
"No, but he would have if I hadn't stopped him."   
  
"He didn't have anyone watching him?"   
  
Diana finally looked up from her arm, stared into the lenses of his mask. She couldn't even tell if he was looking at her face or the wound he was wrapping. "His mother. But I couldn't have been certain that she would have caught him before he got into danger."   
  
He ripped the end of the bandage in half, tied off the dressing. "You should have protected yourself first. You couldn't have helped the boy, nor anyone else in the crowd if the bullet had done more damage."   
  
"But it didn't—" She bit off her sentence, smiled, lowering her head. "We've had this conversation before." She tested the bandage, rotating her arm, flexing the biceps. "This is good. Thank you." She glanced up at him, decided to take a chance on her next words. "You've gotten rather good at patching me up with your medical expertise."   
  
He drew in a sharp breath. "This isn't like that."   
  
"No?" She lifted an eyebrow. "I get hurt while saving someone's life, you fix me."   
  
"There's a difference between bandaging a small wound you've received in the heat of battle and bringing you back to life after you've committed suicide for me, Diana." He stepped back, began repacking the antiseptic and clean bandages into the cabinet.   
  
Diana leaned back against the counter, her mind racing. This really was the same conversation as before -- she just had to be smarter about her answers this time. Her love wasn't the answer, obviously.   
  
But maybe another approach would break through that wall.   
  
She put on an airy laugh that hopefully didn't sound false to his ears. "Oh, I didn't just do that for you, Batman. It was part of it, sure, but I also did it for the Justice League. And for Gotham."   
  
At the mention of his city he tensed. "What do you mean?"   
  
"That I've grown fond of the city and its inhabitants while working at Leslie's clinic: people like little Teresa and her mother, the other patients who are just trying to live a normal life, or even people like Uzana Costache. If you died, there wouldn't be a hero to take your place to protect that city. And even if someone tried, they couldn't do half as much as you do, even if they had as many powers as Superman."   
  
He didn't respond, and she smiled to herself, knowing there was no way he could contradict her statement. He told everyone to stay out of his city far too often for him to pretend that he thought someone could do the job as well as he.   
  
She gave a careless shrug, realizing how manipulative she was being, but relieved that at least what she was saying was the truth. "And the Justice League needs you as well." She paused. "But I would have done the same thing if it had been anyone. I was just lucky that the conditions were right for me to break the curse."   
  
"And would you have slept with anyone who had a curse on them you could break?" he asked.   
  
This time she recognized the cruel jab for what it was--a defense mechanism--and deflected it easily. She had been too raw to do so in the clinic earlier that week. "No, Bruce," she replied softly. "I would have invited anyone who had a curse for me to break to my room, to sleep and for his protection -- but I had sex with the man I love. You."   
  
He opened his mouth to reply, but a choking sound had them both looking at a very red Superman standing in the Javelin's doorway.   
  
Diana looked at Batman, was amused to notice his own skin had turned faintly pink. She wasn't upset by the interruption -- whatever Batman had been about to say, it was probably an argument. She knew it was better to let him think about her words for a while, stew in them.   
  
She hid a grin, slid into one of the front seats. She doubted the two men would look at each other the entire flight back -- let alone talk to each other.   
  
Men, she thought, not for the first time, but with more fond exasperation than ever before.   
  
*********************   
  
She could see in the dark.   
  
She knew she had locked her door.   
  
He stood by her bed, indecision showing on the part of his face exposed by the mask.   
  
She sat up. "You've come this far. You might as well say or do what you had in mind, instead of chickening out now."   
  
He clenched his jaw. "I was coming to tell you that..." He broke off. "I wanted to say that it won't..."   
  
"Would it be easier if I used the lasso?" Diana said, with no intention of making this easy for him.   
  
She let the sheet slip down to her waist, and thanked the gods for her impulse to sleep in the nude that night.   
  
No, she intended to make this very hard for him.   
  
He pushed back his mask, and for a moment she thought that he was going to undress, just get into bed with her, then she realized that he was just making sure he didn't use his night-vision lenses. She smiled.   
  
"No," he said. Sitting down on the bed, bracing his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward as if staring at the carpet. She wasn't certain if he was responding to her question about the lasso, her nudity, or telling himself something with that word.   
  
"Why are you here, Bruce?"   
  
His lips lifted into a wry, self-deprecating grin in the dark. "I thought I knew when I came up here," he said. "But it seems that I've forgotten along the way, or that it became unimportant."   
  
"That doesn't sound like you," she said.   
  
"No," he said slowly, "It doesn't." He scrubbed a hand over his face, ran his fingers though his hair, and Diana realized that he really didn't know what he was doing here.   
  
She didn't feel a bit guilty that she was the cause of his confusion, either.   
  
"I came up here to look at you," he admitted suddenly. His gaze remained fixed blindly on the floor.   
  
Her lips parted in surprise. "Look at me?"   
  
He nodded sharply, and she felt his withdrawal, as if he'd shocked himself with his words. He stood, pulled his mask back on -- but he didn't glance at her. "And now I have seen you," he said abruptly, striding toward the door.   
  
She beat him there, leaning back against the wood. She felt his gaze rake her form, even though she couldn't see his eyes. "Now you have seen me," she said. She stepped forward, put a hand on one of his rigid arms, slid the other back behind his shoulders, under his cape. She floated up a couple of inches, until her eyes and lips were level with his. "Why did you want to look at me?"   
  
He stepped to the side; she floated with him. She leaned forward, traced the seam of his lips with her tongue, then broke the contact. "Why did you want to look at me?" she repeated.   
  
He tried to push her away; she didn't move. He wasn't trying as hard as he could have, she knew.   
  
Emboldened, she pressed her full length against his, her softness against the stiff armor of his Batsuit. She said the words against his mouth. "Against your own character, and probably your own judgement, you just admitted to me that you came here to look at me, Bruce. Why?" She scraped her teeth along his jaw, then licked the same path with her tongue.   
  
His arms came up then, and she prepared herself to either be ravished or tossed aside, but he simply pushed them into her hair, holding her head still. "It wasn't for this. For seduction," he said.   
  
Her eyes were gentle as she looked at him. "I know that," she said.   
  
They stared at each other in silence for a moment.   
  
She spoke first. "You're in love with me. That's why you came to look at me."   
  
A bark of laughter escaped him. "They don't teach you subtlety on that island, do they?"   
  
"They do," she said. "Just not in regards to relationships with men. I'm in new territory for an Amazon." She took a deep breath. "But Amazons are wonderful explorers." She grimaced as she realized how false that statement might sound. "For a race that's never been off their island in three thousand years," she added lamely.   
  
He removed his fingers from her hair, and she set herself back down on the ground, letting her hands drop to her sides. If he went now, she wouldn't stop him. There was hope at least, she told herself, and she could continue to try.   
  
He didn't leave. "I came to look at you because you were right that day when you said I'd continue to be haunted. I haven't been able to get you out of my mind for weeks." He reached forward, touched her cheek. "I came up here tonight to look at you, to convince myself that the reality wasn't as good as my mental image of you, so that I could finally push you from my thoughts."   
  
"Did it work?" She held her breath.   
  
"No. But I wish it had."   
  
"That's not very flattering," she said, but she was smiling.   
  
His lips twitched. "No, it isn't." He stared at her for a moment, then added, "I have nothing to offer you, and I can't make any promises, Diana. I don't need a relationship."   
  
"And I don't need a man, Bruce, and I didn't want one before you," she said. "And I've never asked for anything from you, or for promises, nor will I ask for anything now." She gave him a stubborn glance. "Because if I ever want you to do anything, I'll make you do it."   
  
"You've gotten good at that, Princess." He smiled. "But ask me first; I might do it of my own volition, especially if what you want is reasonable."   
  
"Like sleeping when you are tired?" She tilted her head toward the bed. "I'd hate to find you passed out from exhaustion on the couch again, when there is a place for you here."   
  
"I'm not tired right now," he said.   
  
She crossed her arms, lifted an eyebrow. "I still think it is best that you get into that bed. Right now." She paused. "Unless you need to go back to Gotham, of course."   
  
"I don't," he said. "Not until morning."   
  
She grabbed his hand. "Good. Then we have plenty of time to tire you out, then let you get some sleep." She pulled him toward the bed.   
  
He planted his feet, and she looked back at him. "Bruce?"   
  
Using his free hand to push back his mask, he gestured with his head toward the door.   
  
Her breath caught. "You want to leave?"   
  
She saw his slow smile in the dark. "No. The sight of you against the door earlier gave me an idea. As much as you would like to take control, I think we should do this my way."   
  
She understood, and her eyes widened. "Is that possible?"   
  
His teeth flashed as he grinned. "Very."   
  
She began dragging him toward the door.   
  
He pushed her against the wood, claimed her mouth, lifting her against him, then stopped.   
  
"What is it?" she wondered, her fingers working at his suit.   
  
He kissed her gently. "I want to look at you," he said. "And we need to turn on the light."

****

THE END


End file.
